Bones that Speak
by Goldie Jean Aeglaca
Summary: A talented anthropologist works on a dig in Sweden and witnesses a horrific scene. She also discovers that telepaths aren't the only unusual creatures in the world. Merlotte's crew, Fangtasia, and vampire culture are all explored. A mystery develops that only Eric can help her solve. OC/ Eric N.
1. Chapter 1

A/N Although it doesn't seem like a fanfic at the beginning, you'll see the references to True Blood at the end of this chapter. Please review! This is an idea that I've been nursing along for a while, but I'm new to fanfiction. I do not own anything having to do with True Blood and any resemblance of characters to people or places living or dead is entirely coincidental. Names of institutions are for geographical explanation only.

The logical part of Carly Michael's mind knew that 48° F wasn't really cold, certainly not in Sweden. And it also knew that she should be grateful that the American landowner of the archaeological site had provided them with trailers to sleep in during the excavation. 48° wasn't as cold inside a trailer as it could have been if she was trying to sleep inside a tent.

During her first excavation, when she was an undergrad, she slept in an old army tent on a New Mexico plateau. And even though it was the desert, and much further south, the temperature dipped even lower. So now she should just be grateful for the trailer, even if it rocked back and forth because of the wind and the rain.

Of course, during the summer time in New Mexico, the sun went down all the way, and it got completely dark for at least eight hours. Carly hadn't bought an eye-shade at the airport as her dissertation adviser had recommended, so sleep hadn't come easily since she'd been on the dig.

But the artistic part of her mind spent those wakeful hours entertaining romantic visions of Viking raiders, pulling their long-ships back onto the shore. The ships loaded down with treasures—Baltic gold and amber—would come up to the beach with the tide and tall, handsome warriors would draw the bellies of the ships up to a firm berth.

_I have to get up_, Carly decided. _I'll walk down to the dig, check the tarps, and walk back up. That will kill an hour if I walk slowly._

The sun was down, but it would be back up again in just two hours, and she wouldn't be able to sleep much later than that anyway. Marlena, the Swedish archaeologist on the dig, was sleeping in the bunk below her, so Carly sat up carefully and slid down the ladder on her belly. The sleeping trailers didn't have "facilities," so she put on the lined clogs she left by the door, put on her parka, and slipped out the door.

The "necessary" was primitive, but enough. As she came down its steps, she could see the full expanse of the excavation site. The first stage of the dig was done. A web of ropes gridded off a 50 by 50 foot area in 2 foot x 2 foot squares. The topsoil, with its accompanying grass, was gone, and now, each day, ten archaeologists, in different stages of their careers, went at one square at a time with a trowel and brush.

Carly's job wasn't digging—she got a chair at the artifact table, where she photographed each artifact. She also wandered through the dig every hour, photographing the site as centimeters of soil disappeared into the screens.

The lead archaeologist, a salty old woman from the University of York, was awake as well. She'd rejected the trailers in favor of the same canvas tent in which she'd slept and worked since her very first excavation. Some of the others on the dig joked that she'd worked with Carter in Egypt and just hadn't yet succumbed to the curse—or that it had worked in reverse and wouldn't let her die. Carly could see a light peeking out from beneath the door flap and through the cracking vinyl window.

"Who's there?" Dr. Crump threw back the tent door and flashed her "torch" into Carly's eyes.

"Just me, professor. Carly."

"Oh, hello dear. Land of the midnight sun getting to you as well, I see." Dr. Crump was jolly, and always chuckled after every utterance. No one knew quite how old she was.

Carly smiled. "I usually sleep a little when the sun goes down. But it doesn't seem to last very long."

"Well, there's always the work. Do you want to see what I've got going?"

"Sure. I'd love to."

"Please don't mind the mess, dear." Carly couldn't quite see where the mess would have been. The tent was beautifully arranged, just like something off the set of an Indiana Jones movie. Carly began to wonder where Dr. Crump kept her full bar.

Stretched out across the north side of the tent, opposite the door, was a long wooden work table.

"Are those log cabin blocks, Dr. Crump?"

"Yes, aren't they wonderful!" Dr. Crump had been working on a Scandinavian long house that now stretched across the table. "We haven't found the real post holes yet, so I've been entertaining myself by conjuring the house."

"Conjuring?"

"Oh, yes my dear." The elderly Englishwoman's eyes sparkled in the low lantern light. "Archeology is magic. We envision what was once there, summoning the past from the dust."

"I just get to photograph the dust, at least now."

"Oh, but dear," Dr. Crump grasped Carly's forearm. "You are the greatest magician of all."

Carly gasped a little. She'd never told anyone her secrets. But right now, in the darkness, with the wind howling past the tent, she wondered if Dr. Crump knew what she could do. "What do you mean, professor?"

"Why, darling, when we find people, you give them back their faces!"

Breath came easier. Dr. Crump was just talking about Carly's work with facial reconstruction. "Yes, I guess that is a kind of magic."

"Of course it is, dear. Nearly the best magic."

The tent flap blew open and the spell spun by Dr. Crump's earnestness evaporated with the cold gust.

Dr. Crump patted Carly's arm and sent her back to bed with a hearty, "Sleep is precious. Make sure you get some, dear."

Dr. Crump's admonition encouraged Carly back toward the trailer instead of toward the dig site. She stretched and took in the night one more time. As she looked at the dimly illuminated dig site, Carly swore a shadow loomed over the tarps. She rubbed her eyes and looked again, and it was gone. She slept little the rest of the night.

"I've got gold!" Everyone on the dig team had waited to hear such an outburst from someone on the ground. Carly grabbed her camera and ran out to the grid. Dr. Crump heaved herself up from her square, nearly taking the entire grid system with her.

"What is it?" Crump asked.

The slight, squirrel faced art historian from the University of Toronto, hemmed and hawed, "At this point, it's difficult to tell. It's round, so perhaps a shield boss?"

Carly started taking pictures the moment she got next to the square. "I need scale. Can you put down your ruler?" Ruler deployed, Carly started getting closeups of the gold half-sphere now exposed in the black soil.

Diggers who had been working on apparent post-holes moved to adjacent squares, redoubling the efforts of the eager team, who paid little attention as the sun drifted toward its setting point. Carly paced between the site and the sifters, who began finding beads, dense pieces of wood that had survived through the ages, and fragments of steel, instead of the char and charcoal they'd found for the past seven inches of soil.

As she approached the site, Carly was aware of a hush that descended on the team. Dr. Crump struggled again to a standing position, and called out to the team, "Colleagues, friends, gather close, please."

The whole team gathered in a semi-circle, with Dr. Crump at its focal point. "My best estimate for this site is the end of the tenth century, sometime in the 990s. The people interred at this site died at least one millenium and twenty years ago. As their children and tribesmen and friends laid them out in the center of their long house, they most likely consigned their souls to the possession of the valkyries or the residents of Asgard. We know little of their funeral rites, apart from their incendiary properties. But today, as we unearth these people, we need to remember to honor them, to honor their memory. Although they be bones today, these people have descendents who walk through Sweden, perhaps through the world. We must remember to honor these people as we would honor our own ancestors. Let us take a moment to make that commitment. If you have a god, pray to her."

Carly folded her hands. She knew she should believe in something, but she didn't. The years of Buddhist meditation she'd done to quiet her mind only left her a skeptic. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and relaxed. If she couldn't believe in her own god, perhaps no one would mind if listened in on their prayers.

_Our father, who art in heaven..._

_Schma Israel..._

_Hari Krishna..._

_All-father Odin..._

_ I wonder if I can get a publication credit off this dig..._

_When am I gonna get laid..._

And that was why she rarely relaxed long enough to listen to the people around her, why she spent her life alone with a camera, or a computer, or her art. And the bones.

The bones spoke too, in their way, but mostly in her dreams, mostly she saw and felt. Whenever Carly handled a bone, she gained access to the life the bone had lived, to the memories of the mind that moved the muscles that surrounded the bone, to the emotions that person had experienced. The visions almost always came, at least at first, through her dreams, but the more she worked with the bones, the more vivid the visions became, until finally, she could enter the visions at will, and search for a mirror, or the smooth glass of calm water.

That was her great academic secret. Although she wrote her dissertation on calculating muscle robustness from bone attachments on the skull, and other forensic anthropologists had used the formula successfully, Carly really relied on these dreams (sleeping and waking) where she could feel and see the people whose faces she reconstructed. For every subject she'd worked on, she had pages and pages of drawings that recorded their lives, and helped to explain the artifacts found with them, and a portrait she did for herself.

These sketchbooks and portraits were all sitting in a Tennessee storage unit until she got back from Sweden at the end of this season's digging. Starting in September, Carly would be relocating to Louisiana to work with Louisiana State in Shreveport, whose Anthropology program won a federal grant to identify the backlog of bodies from around the state, particularly the skeletonized remains that littered the gulf coast after Katrina. Carly was grateful that so many of the bones she would be working with were old, bones that had washed up and out of their graves, bones that likely didn't wind up in the ground because of violence.

Excavations preceded painstakingly, but yielded tremendous numbers of artifacts. So much amber, cloisonne, silver, gold, coral beads. Silver clothing pins, even some fabric fragments, came out of the grave. By the fourth day after their discovery, the bones were open to the air and ready to photograph.

Right away, she saw two bodies, a man and a woman, so tall—probably both close to six feet in height—with beautiful teeth, so likely no more than forty. But between them, tiny, tiny bones were embedded in the soil. Carly knew immediately what the bones were even if the other dig members seemed oblivious—they were the bones of a baby.

"Oh no. Please no." Carly began to weep. Dr. Crump came running over, her slightly bow-legged gait slowing her down.

"Carly, dear Carly! What is wrong?" Dr. Crump, who stood a full head shorter than Carly, grabbed the camera out of her hands and encircled her in her short, canvas-covered arms.

"It's a baby. I don't want to have to be with a baby." By now, Carly was nearly hysterical, her knees weakening, as she folded to the ground.

"Oh, dear, dear Carly. Don't fret, you know you won't be able to reconstruct a baby. There won't be enough bone left, dear."

Carly slowly gathered herself together: "I'm just tired. I haven't been sleeping."

"It's all right, darling. I wouldn't have thought this was your first baby. Didn't you work on graves in New Mexico?"

"No, it's not the first baby. But it looks like the first family all buried together."

Dr. Crump looked down at the grave and said plaintively, "Yes, that it might be."

Once the bones were out of the ground, the physical anthropologist from Uppsala laid the bones out on tables while Carly documented her work. The work trailer sheltered the remains from the wind and the rain.

"We don't have anywhere near a complete skeleton for the infant," Astrid said.

"No, no, we likely wouldn't. Children are mostly cartiledge, and that would have deteriorated," Carly affirmed.

"Well, I'm done. It's all over to you, now."

Carly looked sadly at the three tables where the man, woman, and infant lay. "Yes, I'll start and see what I can do." Carly gently touched a pendant on a plastic tray. "I still need to do a cast of this Mjollnir."

"I've done lots of excavations in Scandinavia," Astrid said. "I've never seen a Thor's Hammer in someone's hand. I wonder how it slipped there."

"Can you read it? It might be his name," Carly suggested.

"Do you think Dr. Crump would be angry if I looked at it?" Tuva looked like a mischievous elf.

"No, I can't see why. Like you've said, you've done a lot with Scandinavian digs."

Tuva used the plastic tweezers to put the pendant on the microscope platform. "It's got zoomorphic decoration on this side. Nothing terribly exciting, although it could be Fenrir."

"The Wolf?"

"Yes, Thor will defeat him at Ragnarok." Tuva smiled. "I love Norse mythology. It's no wonder Swedes are so nihilistic."

Tuva flipped the pendant over. "Well, here are runes. It says, 'I was made for Erik Ulfriksson.'"

"So perhaps we have Mr. Ulfriksson on our table."

"Perhaps we do. Thank you for letting me look this. I don't usually do much with artifacts. I usually just count the bones, measure, and try to figure out cause of death."

Carly paused, knowing that Tuva wanted to share information with her, a prize for letting her see the Mjollnir. "Do you have any idea about cause of death?"

"Predation. Definitely predation. It looks like wolves. Big, big wolves."

"How horrible." Carly wasn't looking forward to her dreams. "I can't imagine being killed by wolves."

"Dr. Crump will probably have some ideas about this, but it seems strange. Wolves don't usually attack groups of people. They usually seek out the wounded, or someone separated from a group. All three of them show similar injuries."

"Awful. Ummm...Tuva, could you let Marlena know that I'm going to sleep on the cot in here." Tuva cocked her head at Carly.

"Carly, I know you're taking this hard, but don't you think this is a little bit of an ...well...extreme reaction?"

"No, it's just that I want to keep working. I haven't been sleeping well, and Marlena just goes out cold. I don't want to disturb her."

The truth was that she knew that the dreams would be horrible. If these three people were killed by massive wolves, their deaths were terrifying, painful, hideous. And who knows how Carly would react when she relived them, or at least relived "Erik Ulfriksson's."

After Tuva left, Carly took off her cotton gloves, and began looking closely at the bones. Whenever she had a full skeleton, she liked to handle all of it, from the bottoms of the feet to the top of the head. Usually, if she examined the whole thing, shutting out the rest of the world, she'd get sleepy and quickly drift off.

Carly recognized the damage that Tuva mentioned. The right femur was broken, incisions from teeth visible above the patella. Most significantly, however, there was no hyoid bone. The wolf had torn out his throat. What a tragic irony—the son of the wolf slaughtered by a wolf.

As she anticipated, Carly was exhausted, ready, although not eager, for sleep. Although she hadn't told her trailer mate or Dr. Crump, Carly was prepared to sleep here for the next week or more, until she had her preliminary sketches done. These three bodies provided a special opportunity. She didn't have to search through their memories for a glimpse of them in a mirror—she could see them through each others' eyes.

Carly didn't know how quickly she'd fallen asleep, but she could feel the blood pouring from her throat, because his was now hers. Carly inhabited the dying body of the tenth century Swedish king—yes, a king. Clenching his bleeding throat, he saw two things, a wolf, bigger than any wolf he'd ever seen, striding away with his golden crown in its mouth. _My crown,_ he thought, in Swedish, of course, but language differences always disapeared in these visions. He couldn't speak, but he wanted to. Before him, he could see dead bodies-the bodies of naked men-and a beautiful young man who was crouching next to him. Seeing this youth filled him with love, with pride, with regret. The youth was covered in blood, but appeared uninjured. _Tyr be praised_, he thought. _My Erik lives_. And then blackness.

Carly stirred, but didn't fully awaken. She grasped her sketchbook and pencil and began, unconsciously, to draw.

The dream washed back over Carly as if she were drowning in the king's mind. Erik stood before him, his beautiful son, the only son who had survived. "Erik, it's time for you to marry." Beside him was his wife, his beautiful, tall wife, a peace-weaver, who had given him six children: three sons and three daughters, the youngest in her arms. Now, here he was, king of the Spear-Swedes, proud warrior, protector of his people, as he begged his son to marry.

"Father, how can I marry? I'm the only son of Ulfrik left. I need to stay here at your elbow and learn to be king." Erik had a winning smile which clearly was on its way to winning Brigid, the ripe, red-headed slave they acquired when they traded amber with the Orkeyinga last summer. King Ulfrik watched his son's eyes follow Brigid across the long house and especially as she bent deeply over the fire.

His wife sighed. "Yes, Erik, you're my only son, now, and I want grandchildren." She stroked her daughter's cheek. Even if they only had one living son, Ulfrik knew that this young girl would make as advantageous a match as his older two. One had married a king of the Rus to the east, one had married an Icelander of great prominence. Both matches insured trade in amber and timber, and he knew his son would continue to prosper, once he settled down.

"Yes, Erik, we want grandchildren, but only if we know that you're the father. I think Brigid has many favorites." Even with his son's foolishness, Ulfrik felt nothing but pride and love. Erik was the only one of his sons to return from his uncle alive; Astrid's youngest brother was wisest, most skilled. If only all his son's had lived with Edvard.

"Don't worry, father, mother. When I bring you home a whelp, it will clearly have my brand." Erik laughed. "But now, I have business to attend to."

Astrid arranged her daughter's hair. "He's just as vain and insufferable as you are." She smiled lovingly up at her husband. "But he's as beautiful as I am."

"Nothing is truer, my beloved." She truly was his beloved. He knew that other men took concubines, or second wives when they traded, but he had always loved Astrid, and no other. Her mother's pride was the stuff of legend, but Astrid was mild, wise, and always faithful. If only their union had been more fruitful—he grieved that only six children had come to life. He should have had more sons, tall Spear-Swedes who could expand their territory or join the Varangian guard, raid the coffers of Byzantium and return triumphant, as Erik had when his uncle had returned him to his family a man. Astrid had conceived ten children in their twenty year union, but only six had breathed air.

A wolf howled outside the long-house, long, and uncannily. "Fenrir must be hungry," Ulfrik joked.

As quickly as he stood, Ulfrik's sentry screamed in pain, and the baby's nurse cried out, "Wolves, my lord, wolves surround us!"

Ulfrik saw Astrid out of the corner of his eye, gathering up the babe and fleeing to the bunks. Perhaps she could climb into the hayloft and be safe from these four-legged raiders. He swept to the side of the building to grab his sword from the wall. He came away with his sword, veteran of so many fights, in his right, and a spear in his left. No sooner did he have his hand on his sword, but a wolf lunged at him, biting at his thigh. Ulfrik thrust the spear through the wolf's neck. It whimpered, like a beaten whelp, and transformed in front of him. A man, skewered on his spear, lay at Ulfrik's feet.

"No. No! Erik! Where are you, son!" Ulfrik screamed, a cry loosening from his chest, with all the terror and bloodlust it had ever had in battle.

One after another, his sentries and hallmen fell around him, some of them taking the wolf men down with them, some just falling dead, victim to the ravenous hold of the monsters. Ulfrik, his leg broken, tried to stand, and collapsed. He edged over to the wall to grasp another spear, so he could get to Astrid. The spear bent in his hand, and he heard Astrid screaming, "No! No, my angel! Don't take her from me!" Ulfrik looked over his shoulder to see a wolf growling through its teeth at Astrid. At its feet was the bloody swaddling of their baby. The bloodied infant lay nearly naked against the firepit. The wolf lunged at Astrid, grabbing hold of her throat. As the wolf shook her back and forth, Astrid blinded it with the knife she wore at her side. Even blind, the wolf continued to shake, and Astrid continued to fight, even as blood poured from her wound. Even as she died, Astrid slit the wolf's throat. Before Ulfrik could move one step closer, Astrid, throat laid open, neck nearly broken, lay tangled with a naked man, who gasped and gulped as he drowned in his own blood.

"Father!" Ulfrik heard Erik scream as he moved into the hall. His sword plunged into the side of a wolf, who transformed into a man before Erik withdrew it. Erik stumbled, dumbfounded. He heard growling behind him and fell to one knee, sending his sword into another wolf which died a man. Ulfrik watched helplessly, his leg broken, his spirit eviscerated, and only caught the smell of the wolf that tackled him and ripped out his throat. He grasped his at himself, and watched as the wolf stalked away with his crown. Erik knelt before him. _Tyr be praised. My Erik lives._

Carly awoke the next morning, hoarse, sore, and grateful to be alive. Every piece of paper in her sketchpad had been torn out, covered in scratches, the tracks of wolves and men, blackening them. Before anyone else could see, she gathered them all up, leaving only the sketches of the Queen, Queen Astrid, peaceweaver, proud mother, loving wife, out on the table. What could she share with Dr. Crump and the rest of the team? This wasn't Erik Ulfriksson. This was King Ulfrik of the Spear-Swedes. And they had been slaughtered by werewolves. "Shit."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The reconstruction for Queen Astrid went quickly. After making plaster casts of Astrid's and Ulfrik's skulls, Carly started placing the flesh depth markers on the reproduction of the queen's skull. When other team members were away, she also started her portrait of Queen Astrid. Carly tried to capture the calm, loving look she had when she talked to her son, but all Carly could see was her vision of Astrid on the ground, grappling with a wolf, covered in blood.

Luckily, Dr. Crump decided that the king's name had to be Ulfrik. The Mjolnir had to be an offering, some sort of "revenge vow," Dr. Crump asserted. So everyone on the team, except Carly, started calling the skeleton "Wolfie," and Carly winced every time she heard it.

Test pits around the perimeter of the site had yielded additional human bones, but they were charred badly and lacked skeletal organization. They looked like they'd been dumped straight into a hole. Tuva laid them out on a table, with the identifiable fragments in their appropriate positions. The other bones just sat in a fractal arrangement at the foot of the table. Tuva couldn't even figure out how many skeletons she had found.

Marlena was annoyed with Carly for beginning the reconstruction of the queen. "Carly, you have your priorities wrong. We should work on the highest status occupant first before we move to subordinates."

"Marlena," Carly tried to keep her voice measured, "the queen's skull hadn't deformed with the weight of the soil, so her construction is much easier, much more intuitive for me, so I wanted to get it done."

"But she isn't important."

"I doubt the man buried next to her would say that." Carly never looked away from her work.

Marlena was exasperated. "You can't project contemporary sentimentality onto ancient cultures. Marriage was not about love. It was about the transfer of property, the settling of feuds." Marlena put her hands in her pockets. "You Americans don't understand that sentiment has no place in archaeology. You always want the site to tell some romance. Your Vikings always good-hearted."

"What can I say. I guess I'm just a romantic American." Carly could only remember the love that swelled within her when the king looked at his wife, his daughter, his beloved and only surviving son. King Ulfrik felt sentiment, and passion, and love. He felt more love than Carly had ever felt. Sometimes she wondered what would happen to her. She'd only ever experienced emotions other than shame, frustration, or guilt in her dreams, when she walked through other people's lives and deaths.

Dr. Crump came for her regular visit during her "afternoon constitutional."

"Dear Carly, how goes the resurrection?" Dr. Crump let out a little gulp and brought both hands to her bosom. "Carly, she's beautiful!"

Queen Astrid's bones and muscle were in place, but she still lacked skin, eyes, and hair. "Dr. Crump, I'm impressed you can see beauty that isn't skin deep."

"Those cheekbones could raise an army all by themselves." Dr. Crump looked on with admiration, shifting back and forth to take in every angle.

"I doubt her name was Helen however."

"What are you calling her? We're fairly certain her husband's name was Ulfrik. What was her name?"

Carly remembered the way her name flowed from the king's tongue as he said it. "Astrid. I like to think of her as an Astrid."

"How fitting, Carly. Beautiful goddess!" Dr. Crump beamed. "Very fitting. We shall look in the records for an Ulfrik and see if we can find his consort. It would be lovely if you were right."

"Yes. It would be."

Dr. Crump turned to go, but stopped. "Carly, may I ask you a personal question?"

"Certainly, Dr. Crump."

"Why do you never look any of us in the eye?" Dr. Crump continued to speak toward the door, not turning to face Carly.

Carly rotated her body and her head, "Dr. Crump, I'm sorry. It's a bad habit. I spend a great deal of time alone under normal circumstances. I'm somewhat shy."

Dr. Crump turned around to face her. "I'm happy to hear that dear. I thought you might be struggling to avoid our thoughts." The elderly academic smiled and nearly skipped out of the trailer.

It took a minute for Carly to start breathing again. "Well, shit."

It was nearly midnight before Carly finished painting Astrid's eyes. Carly hadn't slept properly since her first dip into Ulfrik's life, and now that the sculptural reconstruction of Astrid was as finished as it was going to be, she didn't have any more excuses to avoid working with Astrid's bones.

Carly looked at Astrid's face and said, "I hope you don't mind. I just need to find out what your husband looked like."

At the table, Carly started again, examining Astrid's feet, holding her femur for a long time, examining her pelvis, cupping her hand over the crest of her pelvis. "Only six children had come to life." The pelvic bone only reflected eight pregnancies, so Astrid must have had two very early miscarriages. Carly wondered what Astrid's mother's "legendary pride" was all about. Maybe she could find out tomorrow. Tonight she'd have to live through the pain, would have to see the poor baby flung across the long house.

"I'm so sorry. I can't imagine how much loss you felt." Carly spoke into Astrid's empty and unresponsive eye sockets. "I guess I'll have a better idea in a little while, huh?"

Carly fell into the dream quickly again. "No. No, not my angel!" The bloody swaddling. The despair welled up in her breast in synchrony with this snarling beast's panting. The struggle, the blood, the knife, her mother's knife—it wouldn't save her, but it would take this beast along with her. What? Not a beast, a man. As dead as she would be. Darkness.

Carly startled awake panting. "No. No, not my baby." Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she couldn't grasp hold of the world. Where was the fire? Where was her husband?

In a panic, not knowing where or who she was, Carly rushed out the trailer's door and toward the dig. Light ringed the horizon without shining on the ground. She fell in the dirt, raised herself and looked across the twenty meters to the edge of the dig. There, standing at the perimeter of the dig, staring down into one of the holes that had been filled with charred bones, was Erik Ulfriksson. "Erik!" As soon as she said his name and their eyes met, he was gone.

Carly didn't know quite how long she'd been there, face-down in the dirt, but when she came to she realized it couldn't have been that long. She stood up, brushed off as much of the dirt as she could see, and walked back to the trailer.

The trailer had a big utility sink, and when she pulled the stool up to the edge of it, she was able to swing her filty, bloody feet over the side and wash them in cool water. Once she was cleaner, she looked back over at the cot and at the drawings that lay alongside it. They were horrific—black scratches of wolf's jaws and bloodied hands and paws struggling with one another. Although she dreaded going back to sleep, she knew that she had to, that she would go back before the attack, that she would see Ulfrik's loving eyes, the Lothario Erik, and hold tight to the sweet baby.

No sooner had she stretched out on the cot than Carly was back in the long house and back with Astrid. _I love the winter, when Ulfrik's home. And now Erik is as well. Edvard was good to him—always my best brother, the least like mother. _Her young daughter slept fast in her arms.

"Astrid, my darling, shall we conspire?" Ulfrik strode past the fire pit toward her, tall, handsome as always, his dark hair burnished by the sun, streaks of wise gray running down his beard. His eyes, green as leaves inflamed her love.

"My king, to what end do you wish to conspire?" _Always treats me as his equal, even though I can't wield a sword or lead a raiding party. How I wish I could give him all the children he deserves._ Astrid's thoughts rang out so clearly, as clearly as if they were Carly's own.

Ulfrik embraced her, drawing his hand down her cheek. "Our son, Erik, needs to marry. There are good prospects for him in Norway, and I wish for him to strike out when the sun rides high in the sky."

"I fear his time with Edvard in Byzantium might have spoiled him for marriage, Ulfrik. Domestic pursuits don't seem to call to him. You should give him a few more seasons. After all, my angel here is not nearly a year old. There might be more children for us." Astrid loved her son, loved his pride, the way that he moved. He was entrancing, as beautiful as his father was twenty years ago, as strong as Thor, as canny as Odin. She knew she risked bringing down the anger of the gods by comparing her son to them, but she knew that all her sons would sit near the high seat when the final battle began. The eldest two had already been claimed by the valkyries, and when the time came, Erik was sure to die honorably and enjoy their company again in Valhalla. But not now. Please, not now.

"He might take a few more seasons to marry, but we can sow the seeds now."

"As you will, my king." Astrid traced the gold circlet around her beloved's head.

Erik entered the long house, still covered in a light covering of wood shavings. He'd been carving again—he was a born leader, but also a craftsman. Astrid still remembered how Erik would skulk around the wood carver's hut seeking out scraps he could carve into little dragon ships. When was that? So long ago. At least fifteen years ago. It was so hard to realize that this man who towered over his fellows was the same little boy who left her side fifteen years ago. But Edvard had taught him well, had taught him Greek and Latin, and a little Persian. Her son was a star of the Varangian Guard. He'd warded thieves away from the Byzantine treasury, guarded the Emperor's household, and, she was certain, shared enough of their beds.

"My son!" Ulfrik exclaimed. "Come sit with us. Your mother and I wish to talk with you."

"Mother," Erik smiled, "do I have another sweet sister on the way? Or perhaps a strapping brother who will fight me for your love?"

"Erik, no one could ever take my love from you!" Astrid smiled. Erik was such a charmer, just like her youngest brother.

Ulfrik straightened up, "Erik, it's time for you to marry."

Erik responded as she'd expected. He laughed heartily and stared longingly at that minx Brigid. That Irish girl had attracted every eye in the village, every one except Ulfrik's. She appreciated her husband's fidelity more than he would ever know. It set him apart, unlike every other man she'd ever known.

"Father, how can I marry? I'm the only son of Ulfrik left. I need to stay here at your elbow and learn to be king." How he knew exactly what he should say, she would never know.

Astrid sighed. "Yes, Erik, you're my only son, now, and I want grandchildren." She stroked her daughter's cheek. How much joy had this unexpected gift brought to them. After all the dead babies, after losing her oldest sons, this shining angel came to her.

"Yes, Erik, we want grandchildren, but only if we know that you're the father. I think Brigid has many favorites." Brigid always did as she was told, but she enjoyed a few too many liberties with the young men, especially with the hall guard, but she still had not produced a child.

Erik laughed lightly. "Don't worry, father, mother. When I bring you home a whelp, it will clearly have my brand. But now, I have business to attend to."

Astrid arranged her daughter's hair. "He's just as vain and insufferable as you are." She smiled lovingly up at her husband. "But he's as beautiful as I am."

Her husband said, "Nothing is truer, my beloved." Astrid knew her son's beauty would be a problematic gift. It would incite jealousy from other men, lead some to underestimate him, or cause him to choose alliances unwisely. Her oldest son had died because he had loved another man's wife too ardently and too publicly. He died with an ax in his head.

A wolf howled outside the long-house, long, and uncannily. "Fenrir must be hungry," Ulfrik joked.

Her nurse cried out, just as Ulfrik's sentry screamed in pain, "Wolves, my lord, wolves surround us!" _But we have fires! Why would wolves come to the house._

Astrid gathered up her baby and fled to the bunks. _They won't be able to get to the drying loft. It will be safe there. _

She could hear the wolves attacking, the crunch of teeth on bone, the same sound as the dogs made amplified a thousand times. She heard snarls behind her and screeches from the hall guards, and her husband cried out, "No. No! Erik! Where are you, son!"

Only steps more to the ladder and she would be in the loft. But suddenly she was down. A wolf pulled at her skirts and she tried to lift herself up on one arm, holding tightly to her baby. When the wolf released her, Astrid lurched forward and dropped the swaddled infant. Before she could blink, a wolf grabbed the baby in its jaws and shook. "No! No, my angel! Don't take her from me!" The world was blood, and Astrid swam in it, unable to stand still or strong. Then a wolf grasped at her throat, and Astrid grabbed hold of her knife, her mother's knife, the knife that had slit the throats of so many girl children. She blinded the wolf, and then stuck the knife in its throat. She felt her blood mingle with that of the wolf—but no, it was a man. And as darkness fell, Astrid felt the blood gush and the man shake, lurch, and squirm.

Carly awoke again, gasping for air, her hands to her throat, a bloodied pencil in her hand. Somehow she'd stabbed herself with it as she drew the harried sketches around her. Carly felt around her body, but couldn't find a wound. Without a hand mirror, she couldn't be sure, but she thought she'd probably bitten her tongue. Her mouth was full of a sharp, metallic taste. It must be blood.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N

I wanted to say something about the timeline. I know that the SVM places the Great Revelation prior to Katrina, but I figured that I could put the Great Revelation in 2006 or 2007 without too much trouble, since the events of the show happen in 2008 or so. Once again, I don't own anything having to do with True Blood, and any resemblance to people alive or dead is purly coincidental. All placenames are there for geographical continuity, not to suggest anything about the residents or employees of those places or institutions.

Chapter Three

"Carly. Carly! Wake up." Marlena shook Carly's unresponsive shoulders. "You have to wake up!"

"Uhh...yes...okay. I'm awake." Carly tried to sit, but groaned, and fell backward. "Yes. I'll be awake in a minute. I just need to rest."

"My lord, Carly! What happened to you?" Marlena's icy blue eyes were framed by twisted eye-brows, radiating concern and fear. "You're filthy. I can't let you sleep out here any more."

Carly struggled, but managed to heave herself up on her elbows. "I'm okay. I just had to pee in the middle of the night. I thought there was enough light, so I left my flashlight behind." Carly was so tired, the lie might even be true.

Marlena surveyed the trailer, clucking her tongue at the drawings. "Is this what you're dreaming about, Carly?"

Finally coming to a sitting position, Carly swung her feet over the side of the cot and stretched. "It's why I'm sleeping out here." Another harmless lie wouldn't hurt anyone. "My dirty secret—reconstructions give me nightmares." One more lie for good measure: "And I sleep-draw. It's messy. Is there any coffee down at the commisary tent?"

"Yes, but you need a shower." Marlena shook her head. "If Dr. Crump sees you looking like this, she'll send you home." Marlena leaned over and gathered up the drawings. She drew a long breath. "Volsunga saga. It's like Volsunga saga."

"What are you talking about?"

"Ulfhednar. Shape-shifters. Berserkers. You know what Berserker means, Carly?" Marlena stood up, going through the drawings one by one.

"It's bear-shirt, right?"

"Yes, the berserker took on the skin of the bear, and became as fierce as a bear in battle." Marlena breathed in and out like a yogi before reciting a prayer. "Ulfhednar were wolf-warriors."

"I guess it must be Tuva's observations about the wolf bites that's triggering the dreams." Perhaps that wasn't even a lie.

Marlena looked at one drawing after another. "But wolves don't attack settlements. Dr. Crump says there were over 75 people here, given the depth of the midden." Shaking her head again, "No. They don't attack settlements."

Standing up, authoritative and unfailingly Swedish, Marlena commanded Carly, "Shower first, coffee later."

Ulfrik's reconstruction came quickly to Carly as well, and she finished it after three work-days. Dr. Crump had ordered hair from the Uppsala lab for Carly, so she was able to make both reconstructions more lifelike. In private, as the other team members slept, Carly completed a family portrait in oil. She couldn't do a reconstruction for the baby, still strangely nameless, even after the four visions, because there wasn't enough bone to justify doing it. If she started a reconstruction, the team members might worry about her sanity. After seeing Erik Ulfriksson at the dig site, she questioned her sanity.

The team had unearthed lots of artifacts that needed cataloguing and John, from Toronto, needed help with the field stabilizations. Even though he was obsessed with his career, he had tremendous focus, so Carly enjoyed working with him. He was nearly as socially awkward as she was, and he seldom thought of anything but the work at hand.

"Carly, I think we can safely make casts of the metal artifacts. Especially the gold and silver. Can you do that while I write the descriptions?" John never looked away from the artifact table as he spoke.

"Sure."

"The Mjolnir will be the big prize for the excavation, I think. There aren't many with names on them."

Carly recognized his intent immediately: _I'll write about the Mjolnir and make a big splash next year at Kalamazoo and Leeds._

Since she hated conferences, John could have the credit with her blessing. "We could also make reproductions. They'd certainly sell at the Jorvik Viking Centre."

"You should talk about that with Dr. Crump, Carly. I don't know what the landowner's worked out with the Swedish government" John weighed the importance of his academic reputation over the possibilities for commercial return, or even financial return for the Viking Centre. He loved it there—it was like Disneyland for the medievally-inclined with a little car that circled a reconstructed Norse settlement.

The two of them worked in silence for a little longer, until dinnertime. The team rarely gathered together, but Dr. Crump said that she wanted the team to eat together. When John and Carly walked under the awning, they halted, stuck about five feet from the spot where the tables usually sat. Instead of the picnic tables, a huge A/V system stood while a pale, sweaty young Swede in a Necrophobic concert t-shirt struggled to straighten the cables that were to connect with a portable satellite dish.

Carly wanted desperately to dip into the technician's head, if for no other reason that to see if she could get a sense of what Necrophobic sounded like. They had to be one of the death metal bands that were the necessary antidote to the bubble-gum legacy of Abba. But she resisted, a little afraid of what else might be in there.

"Colleagues," Dr. Crump clapped her hands twice. "I apologize that we'll have to pretend to attend a cocktail party this evening. The landowner sent instructions that we were to have this television running at seven tonight."

Marlena chuckled, "Are we finally to learn about our mystery benefactor?"

Dr. Crump replied, "I don't actually know, my dear. And he's really not that much of a mystery. I kow his name, and where he lives, and we've corresponded through lawyers. He just sent along instructions that we tune to one of two frequencies at seven. I hope my Swedish colleagues won't mind, but I've instructed...I'm sorry, dear, what's your name again."

"Axl," the technician grunted.

"Of course it is. How could it be otherwise?" Dr. Crump smirked. "I've instructed Axl to turn to the English-speaking frequency, since I don't know if many of us can say more than 'Please, no lutfisk for me,' in Swedish." Dr. Crump tittered at her joke. "So let us mingle and contemplate our surprise. Food is in the trailer tonight, and you all must circulate, I fear. Nowhere to put anything down."

The team circulated as instructed, juggling their food and drinks. Carly noticed that there seemed to be slightly more alcohol flowing than usual. Dr. Crump, especially, seemed a little further gone than she usually was at dinner.

"Doctor. It's a few minutes of seven. Shall I turn on the link?" Axl's English was formal, stilted, and his sweaty scowl didn't endear him to anyone.

"Yes, please, Axl." Dr. Crump clapped her hands again. "Does everyone have a view of the television."

The team stood two or three deep, the diggers squatting in their favored position, while the team members who worked at tables or who walked the site stood uncomfortably behind them. The screen showed a BBC announcer, pressing his fingers against something in his ear, brushing the surface of his desk nervously with the stack of papers in his hand.

"If you've been watching, you know we're expecting to hear soon from the prime minister, who has called a press conference for 18:00 hours GMT. We've just learned from colleagues from Al-Jazeera, CNN, and other news agencies around the world that other world leaders have scheduled similar press conferences at the same time. We have no idea of the content of the conference...yes, we will now go to number 10 Downing Street."

The screen flashed a BBC logo with "Breaking News" plastered across it in red.

Tony Blair approached a microphone awkwardly, brushing his hands against his sides as if wiping away sweat. He pulled cards out of his pocket and addressed the microphone while photographers clicked their cameras.

"In the last five years we've seen overwhelming technological innovations: advances in cloning, in micro-processors, cellphone technology, and medical research. Most significantly, scientists in Japan have synthesized human blood, saving untold numbers of lives. This innovation, above all others in recent years, directly impacts the quality of human life. And, as I have learned recently from representatives in Japan, synthetic human blood will have lasting cultural consequences of a scale few of us could ever imagine. I've been told that the networks broadcasting this press conference will now be able to switch to representatives in Japan."

The dig team was generally silent, but Dr. Crump kept sucking in sharp breaths that made her lips flap together.

The screen switched to small group of people, all extraordinarily well-dressed. Carly came from a wealthy family, a small family. Her mother had raised her alone. But she had enough aunts and uncles who blew through town to be able to recognize Armani suits, Chanel, and the otherworldly quality of Saville Row bespoke suits.

"Good afternoon and evening to the English-speaking world. My name is Nan Flanagan. Behind me are Kibwe Shabaka, and Elliott Evensong. We need you to listen carefully to what we have to say tonight. The three of us, and hundreds of thousands more like us, are vampires. Until recently, we owed our existence entirely to human blood taken from willing and too often unwilling donors. Until today, we've lived in the shadows and on the fringes of human society, but the synthesis of human blood in Japan makes it possible to move forward and contribute meaningfully and openly to world society. Kibwe Shabaka will now speak in more detail about our condition."

Carly looked around at the dig team. Dr. Crump was on the edge of her chair, both hands on her cheeks with a look of joyful astonishment. Most of the rest of the team was silent, unmoved, and unmoving. Carly took a risk and dipped quickly into the minds around her.

_Is this some kind of joke?_

_Maybe this explains my old boyfriend._

_The property owner sent us this system. He must have known. Shit, he's a vampire._

John had drawn the obvious inference, hadn't he? Only someone who knew this announcement was coming would have bothered to go to all this trouble. They'd never had a satellite feed before—there was a satellite phone for emergencies, and they weren't entirely off the grid.

Dr. Crump's mind was awash with images and folktales, but Carly couldn't grasp hold of any words. It all moved too quickly. Refocusing on the screen, Carly watched as the picture panned and refocused on the handsome African who stood, until a few moments before, behind the sharp-featured woman who spoke initially.

"Vampires have a metabolic difference from most human beings. As a result of exposure to a virus, our metabolisms slow to the point where we can no longer process foods and cannot dispose of waste products. All our nutrition comes from osmotic processes—from the consumption of blood. Our inability to process foods and dispose of waste products causes us to become pale and to become sensitive to sunlight and silver, but it effectively stops our aging processes, allowing us to live significantly longer life-spans than most people. For this reason, we have shunned human society, aware that our agelessness would incite suspicion, and that suspicion would result in our deaths. Today, we abandon our lives in the shadows, and ask to rejoin human society so that we can work together for the betterment of us all. Elliott Evensong has some final comments."

An elegantly dressed man, clearly British, Elliott Evensong stepped forward as the camera panned sharply to take in his figure. "At this moment, Vampires worldwide are revealing themselves to humanity. We can not take this night back and flee the light, retreat back into the shadows, and disappear into the recesses of folklore. Vampires are here, but we mean no harm to humanity. We wish to coexist peacefully, to offer our knowledge, skills, and financial resources to society. In the coming days, you will hear much more about vampires. All governments around the world will learn our names, and we look forward to working productively with them. We know that some places in the world will not be ready for this revelation, but our faith in the compassion of humanity is never-ending. Nan, do you have any closing remarks?"

"Thank you, Elliot. Although must our lives entirely at night, we have all the same hopes and dreams as any of you out there in the world. Tomorrow, production of a commercial version of the synthetic blood product will start rolling out of five factories across the world. Once 'Tru Blood' is for sale in places of public accommodation, you will see vampires among you. You will likely not know the difference between us. We hope that we can begin a productive dialogue in legislative and judicial bodies around the world that will ensure the safety of both humans and vampires. Thank you for your attention. Good night."

The screen flipped back to a pale and marginally frightened Tony Blair standing at the microphone at 10 Downing street, fielding questions from reporters.

"Prime Minister, were you aware of the content of this press conference before tonight?"

Blair dabbed his forehead with a hankerchief. "Yes, a delegation of vampires contacted me last week to ask for my introduction."

"So you hid the existence of vampires from the British public for a week?"

"No, yes, I'm afraid I did." Blair slackened in front of the microphone. "I'm afraid that you have no idea exactly what this has meant. We were informed that thousands of vampires were in Britain, peacable citizens without any voting rights or social responsibilities, and they wanted them and were willing to sacrifice their anonymity to participate fully in British society. More significantly, they recognized that their revelation would also ensure their taxation." Blair straightened. "I doubt seriously that British taxpayers would balk at the introduction of new revenue streams at this point in time, as we fight wars on two fronts."

Dr. Crump turned off the television. "Bugger all politics!" She turned her gleeful look to the rest of the team. "What an exciting moment to be an anthropologist! Tuva, Marlena, Carly, I'm so jealous!"

A grad student who rarely said anything piped up, "Do you think it's true, Dr. Crump?"

"Well, it's certainly a lot of trouble for some humbug, now isn't it?"

John looked straight at Dr. Crump. "He's a vampire. Our landowner is a vampire. He has to be, doesn't he?"

"It seems altogether likely, my perceptive friend. How wonderful! Oh, Carly, you are the luckiest girl in the world!"

Carly looked startled, "Excuse me, Dr. Crump, I'm sorry. I don't understand what you're talking about."

"Well, our landowner lives in Shreveport, Louisiana."

"Seriously?" When Carly learned that the landowner lived in the US, she'd presumed that the person was an expatriate, someone from Sweden who lived in the US because of economic responsibilities. A captain of industry, a banker, a shipping tycoon. None of those type of people lived in Shreveport, Louisiana.

"Yes, he does. He wants reproductions of all the artifacts taken to him. I told him that you were going to be working in Louisiana, and he seemed quite excited." Dr. Crump chuckled.

"What?"

"Well, I guess I know now why he wants the Mjolnir reproduction cast in gold." The elderly woman chuckled again. "How marvelous! Vampires. A whole new society to study."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N Thank you all for your reviews. You really know how to get a girl writing! I don't think that I've made any major changes to the timeline in this section. I've gone back and fixed a couple of problems in the first chapter as well.

Chapter Four

Summer, weighted down by the revelation that vampires were real, drew slowly to an end. Dr. Crump was occupied by a steady stream of surveyors, consulting archaeologists, museum representatives, and others who came out to the site to help her plan for the next season of excavations. The outlines of the long house were clear, the midden partially excavated, and test pits open around the perimeter. This settlement would take years to excavate fully, especially since they still hadn't found the cemetary—only the one pit of burned bones.

Carly worked diligently with John, cataloging artifacts and casting reproductions, converting silver artifacts to gold and bronze. By the middle of August, Carly had a long case full of reproductions and files and files of photographs. She kept her drawings to herself, but decided that she could paint a portrait openly. If her growing suspicions were true, that the landowner she'd be meeting was a vampire, then perhaps he was related to this family and might appreciate a portrait. She knew that the portrait of her family during its brief moment of happiness was one of her most prized possessions. Dr. Crump approved of the plan and seemed to enjoy watching Carly paint while the other team members luxuriated under the clear August sky after completing their work for the day.

"Oh, Carly! You have such a gift."

"Thank you, Dr. Crump."

The elderly woman walked from one side of the portrait to the other. "May I ask, when did it start?"

"Excuse me? When did I start painting?" Carly tried to redirect the question into something she felt comfortable answering. Now that vampires were "out of the coffin"—in tabloid parlance—she feared that she might be pressured into revealing her own secrets. Dr. Crump had been teasing around the the edges of the issue for the last couple of weeks, especially when she had a chance to walk away from a conversation quickly.

Dr. Crump moved around the portrait until she was peeking around the edge at Carly. "Well, no, dear, that's not exactly what I meant."

"Then, I'm sorry, Dr. Crump, I don't know what you mean." Carly kept painting, focusing her attention, laser-like, on single brush strokes that salted Ulfrik's beard with white streaks.

"Hmm...yes, well. Let me see if there's a way I can be sufficiently cryptic to satisfy your need for privacy. I'm afraid I've just grown too curious. I can't risk going without an answer. I doubt Louisiana will let go of you once you're there. So you might come back next summer." Dr. Crump tapped the tips of her fingers together. "Would you accompany me on my walk about the site?"

If Carly was away from the other team members, if it was just her and this ancient woman who had cracked open some of the oldest graves in northern Europe, she might be able to share what she could do with someone other than her mother. Carly wiped off her brush with the turpentine-soaked cloth she kept in her paint box and drew the canvas over her painting and secured it to the legs of her easel. "Can I put this in the anthro trailer?"

"Certainly, my dear. We've worn a path to the midden from that trailer. It's on our way."

The two women crossed the distance to the trailer quickly, and Carly retrieved her sunglasses from inside the trailer after putting away her paint box and her easel. She hardly ever wore them, so they were a strange affectation for such an intimate moment, but they might help her to keep cool as she talked about her peculiarities.

Dr. Crump always looked the same: her weather-worn face frozen in a state of perpetual excitement and wonder, neck wrapped in a plaid woolen scarf, body encased in a workaday oiled canvas coat. Carly couldn't believe how steady Dr. Crump was on her feet, since she looked as if she were 100 years old.

"So, dear, when did it start?"

"Can I clarify, Dr. Crump, what _it _is that you're asking about?"

Dr. Crump chuckled. "Well, dear, I suspect that there might be more _it_s about you than just this one. Let me just say this: when did you first have such a clear vision of how dead people looked?"

That was clear enough. Dr. Crump knew that Carly had some gift that separated her from the usual anthropologist or artist who worked on reconstructions.

"I guess you won't believe me if I say that it started after my first anatomy class, will you?"

"Oh, no, dear. I know people who can explain every tendon attachment, the movement of every muscle, the way skin thins and pocks, who make everyone look like a Telly-tubby when they do a reconstruction. No, there's something different, something magical, about how you approach the problem."

There Dr. Crump went using that word again. Magic. Carly tried to steady her breathing as they walked along the path carved into the turf toward the midden.

"I think I was five." Carly tried to summon up the memory of visiting her great-uncle in New York City. She'd been miserable for the whole visit. It was so loud, and her uncle was so weird, always jumping around from one topic to another. His brain was like a freight-train that had lost its conductor, headed downhill at a million miles an hour. Carly was lucky that her mother was so calm, so understanding, so aware of how Carly suffered. Finally, Carly's mom, Edna van Heusen, asked Benjamin if Carly could take some "quiet time" away from the grown-up conversation. He'd deposited Carly in a huge study, filled with books. Carly had some crayons, and a Hello Kitty coloring book her mother had bought her in Chinatown, so she sat at her great uncle's desk, dwarfed by its mahogany and colored away quietly.

"Have you heard of my uncle, Dr. Crump? Benjamin von Houten? He did a lot with the Metropolitan Museum in New York."

"Oh, yes, dear. I had no idea you were related."

"Well, he was really my great-uncle. He was my mother's mother's brother."

"He was quite the dandy, if I can say so, Carly." Dr. Crump chuckled again.

"Yes, I know." Carly sank back into the memory of the five year old girl, working diligently on her to color Kitty pink, trying to drown out the sounds of millions of people thinking and feeling around her.

"He had a skull on his desk in his study." Benjamin von Houten fancied himself a scholar, which really meant that he bought expensive books in languages he'd studied for a day and a half and invited authors to lavish dinners. A necessary accoutrement of the scholar's study, the skull served as a _memento mori_. Five year old Carly struggled to remain attentive to Hello Kitty's big eyes while the skull's sockets bored into her.

"I was at his house once, and I started playing with this skull he had on his desk." Playing a word that described the activity of happy, self-possessed children. It would do for the purposes of this narrative. In her memory, Carly put her head in her hands and stared back at the skull for a long time, until finally gathering up enough courage to poke it in the eye to see if it would protest the intrusion. After a while, she'd picked up the skull and drawn it closer to her. The mandible was wired to the skull proper, so she'd started a silent conversation with it. _Is it cold when you don't have any skin, Mr. Skull? _The bones replied, _Oh no, Carly. There's a nice fire in the study most days. And uncle Benjamin feeds me his brandy._

"That night, I'd dreamed about the man that the skull belonged to." That wasn't an entirely true description of what had happened, but Carly didn't really know how to describe that first dream. Five year old Carly somehow dreamed the death of a fifty year old cancer patient, wracked with abdominal pain, mouth dry, gasping the slow breaths of someone whose diaphragm was awash in fluid as he watched his beloved's face, Uncle Benjamin's face, fade from view.

"The next day, I asked Uncle Benjamin if he still loved Charlie. If that was why Charlie's skull stayed on his desk." Carly laughed at the memory. "Uncle Benjamin swooned. Fainted dead away like a Victorian lady, crying out smelling salts. Blanche Du Bois couldn't have performed more convincingly."

Dr. Crump asked, "So you knew how he looked from embodying his memory?"

"No. No. I knew how he felt, and what he looked at, and how he'd died. Although I didn't really know that he'd died. Everything just went dark." Carly paused. "I woke up right afterward and drew a picture of the room, of the hospital bed, and Uncle Benjamin. But I wasn't scared. I felt warm and safe and content. If anything, I felt loved and relieved."

Carly and Dr. Crump walked beyond the midden, toward the furthest edges of the site. "So Uncle Benjamin decided I was a medium. He thought I could get in touch with Charlie's spirit if I spent more time with the skull, so while my mom lay down because of a headache one day, Uncle Benjamin spirited me away into the study again." Carly hadn't thought about Great Uncle Benjamin in so long. Now that she understood him more, she knew what he was after. He missed the one great love of his life and hoped that Carly could bring him back, even for just a few minutes.

"So I had a second dream, and in this one, Charlie was holding a mirror, checking out a shave that Benjamin had given him in the hospital. That night I drew a picture of Charlie. Uncle Benjamin had a frame carved for it and put it over the mantlepiece in his study. It was still there when he died." Carly laughed heartily at the memory of a five year old's crayon portrait. "My first framed piece of art. It spoiled me." The walked a few more steps, and Carly stopped before crossing over a small rivulet. "And he willed me Charlie and his own skull. He wanted me to dream of them together."

Dr. Crump drew her hand to her heart. "That's beautiful, my dear."

"You have to admit, Dr. Crump, it's also a little creepy."

"So is archeology, my dear." They both laughed. "We're academic grave robbers, summer campers disturbing the dead for our own arcane and selfish purposes."

"I guess we are." Carly turned back toward the camp, except she realized that she tread more lightly with every step. Someone else, someone other than her mother, or dear, crazy Uncle Benjamin, knew about her secret. Or at least one of her secrets.

Once the dig was covered over and protected from the elements, it was time to go home. As they waited for the bus that would take them as a group back to the ferry to Stockholm, the team members started to share their plans for returning to their various homes and universities. Most of the Swedes were taking the ferry back across to Stockholm and redistributing themselves around the country by train. The Brits, Canadians, and Carly, the only American on the team, she finally realized, would fly out of Stockholm the next day in small groups. Carly had the furthest to go by far. From Stockholm to Iceland to New York and finally to Memphis. Then she'd have to move herself from Memphis to Shreveport and begin her new life as a grant-funded cog in government efforts to re-inter the displaced dead left behind Katrina and to provide some closure to the families and friends of unidentified victims of violence and poverty. When she began to think of the life she would have, in Louisiana, one of the poorest states in the country, it didn't sound terribly good.

Dr. Crump had been absent during most of the chat session. She came scuttling out from behind a trailer, where she'd retreated with the satellite phone a little earlier that morning.

"Carly, may I speak to you?"

"Certainly, Dr. Crump." When Dr. Crump came no nearer, Carly assumed that this was supposed to be a private conversation. She moved quickly to the edge of the trailer. "Where would you like to talk, Dr. Crump?"

"I think I need another brief walk. We'll be stuck on conveyances most of the day." Dr. Crump seemed slightly rattled, which made the ground beneath Carly shake like an earthquake had hit her.

"What is it, Dr. Crump?"

"Nothing bad, Carly. Actually, something quite surprising, and good. Good for you at least. I just wanted us to speak privately so as not to incite the jealousy of our colleagues."

"I'm much too young for a Nobel prize, Dr. Crump."

"Such good humor, Carly. I greatly appreciate it. I know that things can be difficult for you. I can only imagine the horrors you've suffered this summer."

"Thank you, Dr. Crump." Carly stopped and looked right into Dr. Crump's eyes. "Your sympathy means the world to me. It really does."

"Let's not get maudlin, child. The end of a dig always brings me to tears, and it's too early to start weeping." Heaving up her chest and taking a deep breath in the foggy autumn morning, Dr. Crump, spoke. "Our landowner lives in Louisiana, as you know."

"Yes. I'm a little intimidated. I hope that you'll be able to come and talk with him at some point, or that he plans to go to York for the reproductions." Carly knew that Dr. Crump was dangling a shoe in mid air.

"Understandably, he's eager for the reproductions. The reconstructions, as you know, since you packed them, are in Uppsala, where the curator he's hired for the collection currently works. Andersson, the curator, perhaps you met him? Well, no matter." Dr. Crump was always afflicted by stuttering relative clauses whenever she was nervous.

"Dr. Crump. We can't miss the ferry. We have to get back to the bus. What did you want to tell me?"

"Andersson sent him photographs of the reconstructions. The landowner wants to meet you right away to talk about doing full-body reconstructions for the museum."

"I don't do full-body reconstructions. Really, I don't think there are full-body reconstructions, except for forensic purposes. These people were all healthy before the wolves attacked." Every time she said that phrase—_wolves attacked—_she saw the stark naked bodies of men who had been wolves moments before flailing and convulsing as they died.

"Carly." Dr. Crump took her hand. "He wants to meet you, and he doesn't want to wait. He wants to see the reproductions right now. He said that if your skill with reproducing artifacts was anything like your skills in reproducing people, he couldn't wait any longer."

"Dr. Crump, I'm going to be living in Shreveport, for goodness sakes. I can meet him soon enough."

"I'm sorry, Carly. I am so flummoxed by this whole thing, he's really quite a compelling personage over the phone, he's sending a plane for the artifacts and you."

At the airport, Carly waited for the private jet that would take her to Shreveport, Louisiana, where she would meet the mysterious landowner. She wasn't at all happy about this arrangement. Not that she really enjoyed flying coach from Sweden to Iceland, and then to New York, and then to Memphis. But she really, really wanted to get her house (such as it was) in order, out of storage, and be on her way to the apartment she had waiting for her in Shreveport. A graduate student in art, Ann, had been kind enough to serve as her proxy and look for an apartment with enough natural light for her to paint. Carly had lots of ambition as an artist, but had always relied on her professional space to make room for her personal art. Supposedly, Ann had found a loft in a converted warehouse that had beautiful northern light and a massive ventilation system left over from its industrial uses.

What the Shreveport apartment lacked, of course, was her stuff. This loft didn't have any furniture, and she didn't have any clothing suitable for Louisiana in late August. She had her paints and her portfolio, a duffel bag full of clothes suitable for Sweden and laptop. And now she would have to get herself from Shreveport to Memphis and then back again. She'd complained about this as loudly as possible to anyone who would listen, although she knew there was nothing they could do to change the mind of an impatient, self-indulgent rich man.

A lovely airport representative came over to Carly, "Ms. Michael? Yes, the pilot for your plane tells us that he's ready for you."

"Thanks." Carly gestured toward her things, including the long case full of reproductions, "What do I do with my stuff?"

"Ah, yes," the airport staff person looked up and snapped her fingers sharply, which seemed to summon a luggage trolley (and a skycap) from the ether. "Just put it here. We'll carry it out to the plane and get it loaded."

Once on board, the pilot shook her hand and introduced himself, "Abhay Devi, at your service, madam. My co-pilot, Marissa Smith." The extraordinarily well-groomed Indian gentleman gestured toward a bulky blond woman, still in the cockpit running checks. "My client wishes me to inform you that your original flight plan has changed slightly. We'll be landing in Memphis, Tennessee."

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, apparently he didn't realize you had to move your belongings from Memphis to Shreveport. He believed you already had your residence secured in Shreveport. You will leave the artifact case on the airplane and then make arrangements in Memphis to complete your move."

"Okay. So, um. I'm confused. I thought I was supposed to give him the artifacts in Shreveport and then head up to Memphis on my own dime to get my things. I thought he couldn't wait another minute to bask in my talent." There had been a bar in the private lounge.

"My client regrets that he may have put undue stress on you. He's happy to wait to discuss the artifacts with you. If you will then leave the artifacts here on the plane, I can give you a contact number and you can discuss them once you arrive in Shreveport." Captain Devi smiled pleasantly. "I hope this change of plans suits your needs?"

"Yes, I suppose so. Although my original flight wasn't supposed to leave for another hour. I could probably get my seat back if I tried."

The captain smiled more broadly. "I'm instructed to dissuade you from doing such a thing. Consider the flight a reward for your talent."

"Okay. It's his dime. It seems a little extravagant."

"On occasion, so does he. Most of the time, however, he is the consummate pragmatist. And the reasons you should enjoy the flight are quite simple. You're here, this plane is here, the artifacts are going back to Louisiana, and the plane must return to Louisiana to be used by the next shareholder scheduled for a flight..."

"I guess I don't weigh enough to take up that much fuel."

"I could calculate it, but I believe it's impolite to ask a lady's weight." Captain Devi was a flirt. "We must make a refueling stop in New York. Would you care to get out of the plane and walk about at that point?"

"I think that would be a good idea. It seems like a really long flight otherwise."

"Indeed." Captain Devi nodded and stepped back into the cockpit. "Please make yourself at home, Ms. Michael. Andrea will inform you of the safety procedures for the aircraft and attend to any needs you might have."

Carly turned and saw Andrea materialize from behind a curtain, just like a magician's assistant. She smiled pleasantly and led Carly back to her seat.

With all the shades down on the airplane, and its loud white noise, and the 120 degree reclining seats, Carly slept for the whole flight. She awoke to Andrea gently saying, "Ms. Michael? Did you want to get out of the plane and walk around?"

"Hmm...um..." Carly stretched. "Yes. Yes, I did. Umm...Could I have a glass of water?"

"Certainly. Just one second."

Carly was still fascinated that she got a glass on this plane instead of a little plastic tumbler that was too big around to hold properly. And it didn't just look like glass, but cut crystal.

After using the toilet, which was fancier and cleaner than any toilet she'd seen apart from the Rococo folly that was her Uncle Benjamin's, Carly got off the plane and stretched her legs. She couldn't go into the terminal because of security concerns, but she was able to walk into a small "private plane waiting area" where she could pick up a newspaper.

The front page news was all about vampires. "Vampire Delegation visits Capitol Hill," "IRS adds Vampires to Tax Rolls," "American Vampire League Announces Agenda."

Carly giggled. The word "League" would always be associated with the Justice League in her mind, and it was all she could do to keep from imagining toothy versions of Wonder Woman and Superman. "It's a bat, it's a plane, its Supervamp!" Carly said under her breath.

By comparison with the trip from Stockholm, the flight to Memphis was short, although she remained conscious for most of it. The plane taxied to a stop, and the captain opened the plane doors. "Ms. Michael, may I speak with you for a moment before you disembark?" The pilot was still as crisply and neatly groomed as he'd been when she'd first seen him. If they hadn't been flying during the day, she would have taken him for a vampire.

"Please leave the artifact case on the plane, so we might fly it directly to Shreveport." He turned back into the cockpit and removed a piece of paper from a tablet. "Here is the contact number you need to call once you're settled in Shreveport. Please do so at your earliest convenience. If you call during the day, you'll either be able to leave a message or speak with an assistant. My client also sends his regrets for the last minute changes to your plans, so he's made arrangements for a driver and for a hotel room for tonight, since he presumes that a woman with all her things in storage no longer has a permanent residence."

Carly had wondered on the way to Memphis, briefly, what she would do when she got there. But her mom was always generous with her, and wouldn't have minded picking up a night at the Ramada near the storage unit if she needed it. Carly caught a glint of a steel luggage trolley moving toward the terminal.

"Your luggage is, I see, already waiting for you in the private plane terminal. You should see a driver with a placard with your name on it." The captain bowed, reminding Carly, unfortunately, of the little bow Nazis did in old movies. "It's been a pleasure serving you."

"Thank you, sir. It was really a wonderful flight. A once in a lifetime kind of flight." Even though Carly's family had always been quite comfortable, no one would have ever thought of flying a private plane. First class they would do, largely because they could be seen traveling in first class.

Inside the private plane terminal, Carly picked up a Memphis newspaper. One thing that she loved about digs was the way that the world seemed to fall away while she worked and that she just seemed to fall through a hole in time. Everything in her life, and everything in her mind became about the dig. That's probably why so many archaeologists either were single or worked with their spouses. Dig season was its own time zone, its own dimension, and the rest of the year either moved toward it or away from it.

The skycap had already deposited her luggage with a black-suited driver who held a "Michael" placard. Carly approached tentatively. She'd never really used a driver unless she was with her mother, or one of her aunts or uncles. And then "von Heusen" or "von Houten" was a much clearer signifier than "Michael," the strange name her father had left her with.

"For Carly Michael?"

"Yes, ma'am. Welcome to Memphis." The driver turned, catching hold of the luggage rack and walking authoritatively out of the small building. Once out at the curb, Carly caught the full impact of the Memphis temperature that had somehow escaped her when she got off the plane. The driver opened her door and closed it behind her. The car was cool, and she realized it had been running the whole time. It would take her a while to re-acclimate to the less-than-green practices of Tennessee. Perhaps because they saw the sea encroaching, or saw the ice retreating in the north, the Swedes were more green-minded than Americans. Probably all Europeans were more green-minded. People who traced their genealogy back five or six hundred years probably had a longer time reference.

Not knowing where she was headed, Carly opened up her newspaper. Even though she loved being on a dig, Carly missed certain things about Tennessee: barbeque, music, and barbeque. So the first order of business after getting settled in whatever hotel she was going to would be to get herself down to A & R Bar-B-Que and undo all the good that Swedish diet had done her all summer. She could feel the euphoria of her arteries clogging just to think about it. Then, once the damage was done, she would go listen to some music that would drown out the soundtrack provided by the audience. A few cheap beers, and she would be re-acclimated entirely, ready to withdraw back into herself and move her shit to Shreveport.

"Memphis Horizon Hotel Opens Vampire Suites." The headline caught her attention right away. The Horizon was one of the new "boutique" hotels that had opened downtown before she left. It billed itself as Euro-chic, with clean lines, healthy food, and luxurious offerings. She'd been particularly smitten with their "pillow menu," when she'd stayed there with her mom. Her mom wanted to have a "girls' weekend" after Carly had moved out of her apartment. Although Edna kept the bill away from Carly, and even had demanded that the billing station in the room be turned off, Carly knew that the place had to cost an absolute fortune.

When she'd stayed there, Carly thought it had a strange vibe, a very un-Memphis feel to it, and perhaps she now knew why. Maybe the investors knew a they'd have customers with special accommodation needs by the end of the summer.

The paper didn't have a great deal to offer her. None of her favorite local bands were playing, and most of the entertainment section suggested that people had retreated from Memphis because of the final dog days of summer. She didn't notice at all as her driver pulled into the circular driveway in front of the Memphis Horizon Hotel.

As if it had been the word of the summer, all that could come out of her mouth was, "Shit."

Carly's driver refused her proffered tip, saying "Everything's been taken care of, miss." It was like being around Uncle Benjamin again. Whenever she and her mother went to New York, he'd scout all the locations where Edna and Carly would go, giving doormen a picture of the two von Houten ladies—his clan always had priority in his mind over his brother in-law's-and a fifty dollar bill. When Edna figured out what he'd done, Benjamin just said he was "smoothing the road" for the two of them.

At the reception desk, they seemed to recognize Carly even before she said her name. "Yes, Ms. Michael. Mr. Northman asked us to prepare his suite for you. He's one of our principle investors, you know."

"No, I didn't. But I'm glad he made it available to me, nonetheless."

The receptionist looked closely at her, and tilted her head. "Well, yes. He's asked that you make yourself comfortable and expect to hear from him at 10pm."

"Excuse me?" Carly's heart started beating fast. "Expect to hear from him? You mean he'll be calling at 10pm, or that he'll be arriving at 10pm?"

"Umm..I'm not entirely certain. It is a two bedroom suite, Ms. Michael, if you have concerns in that regard." And he told us that you'd be needing breakfast about noon tomorrow, so..." The receptionist paused again, not really understanding how to address the situation. She squinted her eyes and stared plaintively before looking back down at her keyboard.

It was just too much of a temptation for Carly.

_I thought these people usually knew what they were getting into. I mean, you come to a hotel with a vampire, especially one that looks like Eric Northman._

Carly startled at what she heard inside the receptionist's head, which startled the receptionist.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Michael, are you all right?"

"Yes. Yes. I'm fine. Long flight, you know. I just got back from Sweden." At least Carly knew that this man, or vampire, or whatever he was, good lord, Viking-it was him, she was certain of it-expected her to check out tomorrow. He'd made arrangements for her to be fed, so he couldn't intend to harm her. Or at least, he intended that she'd be able to leave, alive.

The receptionist placed a ten key pad in front of Carly. "Now, Ms. Michael, the door opens with a key card and a custom six digit code that you enter here. For security purposes. The door won't open without both the key card and the numeric code." The receptionist swiped the key-card. "Now, please enter a six digit code that you will be able to remember.

Carly entered her mom's birthday. That should be secure enough, although why the extra layer of security was necessary, she couldn't really understand.

"The room remains light-tight during sunlight hours, so the interior door will not open until the exterior door is closed. The same situation applies for room service."

A hotel with "light locks." It was like she was suddenly on Mars or the Moon.

"Ok. I understand."

Card in hand, and code in mind, Carly went up to her room. There were only six doors, distantly spaced, on this floor. She wondered if this was the investor's floor, or the vampire floor, or the vampire-investor floor. She found her room, opened the door, proceeded through the light lock, and gasped.

If the room she'd stayed in with her mom was elegant, this room was elegance squared. The parlor, or living room, had a sunken seating area, with beautiful deer-skin sofas. In the center of the seating area was a low table with a beautiful glass sphere, like a gazing ball, or a huge marble, but made of natural stone. Two bedrooms went off the main room, both opening off the parlor with double doors. One set of doors was open, and her luggage sat on the king-sized bed in the center of the room. An entirely marble bathroom opened off of the bedroom to the right, with a huge shower, a toilet and a bidet.

Next to the bedroom doors, inside the room to the left as you looked inside from the parlor, was a small mini-bar refrigerator, a coffee maker, a microwave, and a selection of coffees and teas. Carly was afraid to open the refrigerator—would gleaming, mason-sized jars of True Blood be inside? She had to look.

The mini-fridge had cans of club soda, bottles of orange juice, cranberry juice, a carton of half-and-half, and a carton of fresh milk, but no synthetic blood. That was a relief, until she realized that vampires probably had to eat something. She hoped they didn't like their food fruit-flavored.

She opened the other bedroom doors and was astounded at how understated the room was. A bed sat in the center, but it had strange proportions. It was probably seven and a half feet long, but only four feet wide. It continued the masculine color scheme reminiscent of the hunting lodges she'd seen in Sweden. A soft fur-covered pillow sat at the head of the bed, but there didn't seem to be any other linens, or if there were, they were tucked in so tightly they looked like upholstery.

The arrangement of the en suite bathroom was the same, except there was no toilet, just an open shower with four nozzles and a massive jacuzzi that looked like it could hold the whole Swedish football team.

As she left the room, conscious that she was poking around in someone's private space, she spotted another mini-fridge with what looked like a baby-bottle heater atop it. Carly took a deep breath and peered inside, where she saw two blue shrink-wrapped jars with with gold foil over the top. Her hands were shaking too much to pick them up and hold them outside the fridge, so she just turned them and hoped the light would give her some sense of what they were. The liquid inside was thick and had dark "legs" that dripped slowly off the sides.

"Don't have to be a phlebotomist to know what that is."

After a shower and a change of clothes into some of her lighter Swedish clothing, Carly decided that she'd lost her appetite for ribs. Opting for her favorite felafel joint in downtown Memphis, Carly had a light dinner. She also popped into a little boutique and bought a couple of sundresses and new fancy underwear. Everything she'd taken to Sweden was utilitarian to begin with and now was utilitarian and worn out. She always bought new underwear before anything else when she came home. She didn't feel comfortable with the possibility of meeting the dig's benefactor wearing crappy clothes, even if they screamed "field archaeologist."

That wasn't really going to be her job in Shreveport, anyway. She'd be working in a university lab, making plaster casts of skulls and working with clay and paint to reconstruct the faces of unidentified people. And one, or two nights a week, she'd dream herself into their lives to find out where they'd lived, who'd they'd loved, how they'd died, and what their names were.

The hard part, she anticipated, was sharing that information with investigators without somehow getting a reputation as a medium, or a psychic, or, worse, a psycho. Even though vampires walked through the world openly (albeit at night), they were a medical miracle, not a spiritual oddity. Carly suspected that the "viral justification" was an oversimplification and probably hooey, as Dr. Crump had confidently asserted. Carly loved how much Dr. Crump seemed to genuinely believe in magic.

Carly wasn't about to go crazy and start claiming that they were devil-spawn, because she had to believe in a god before she could believe in a devil. She'd always thought that the Exorcist movies were scary not because they suggested the devil could possess innocent people, but that non-believers would be damned. She was certain that a god's wrath would be infinitely worse than a devil's jesting.

Carly cabbed it out to the storage unit, which was conveniently associated with a U-Haul office. She confirmed the reservation that she had made months before, although she changed her pick-up time to 1pm. The storage folks would pack the truck for her, and it would be ready to go when she got there.

She walked the half mile to the AAA store getting there just twenty minutes before they closed. They gave her directions from Memphis to Shreveport, marking off the cities and towns where she could top of her tank and get something to eat. The AAA representative recommended one off-the-interstate destination with disquieting Southern gusto. "Merlotte's is out of the way, but their cook does one of the best gumbos in Louisiana." She said "Lu-see-a-na," of course.

"I'll keep it in mind." Maybe Carly would recover her appetite by tomorrow night if she wasn't spinning jars of blood around in a fridge.

The rep also made sure she had a reservation in a Shreveport hotel. Carly didn't want to start unpacking her apartment without having a good night's sleep and a shower or two or three. Some of the grad students at the University had agreed to help her out in return for pizza and beer. She was grateful that the anthro department had offered her such a warm welcome. Since she embodied a huge grant, she was sure they were happier about the money she represented than about her as a person.

One more cab ride back to the hotel, and she was definitely ready for another shower, and about a gallon of sweet tea. She didn't really like sweet tea, but the caffeine would help get her through her jet lag, and the sugary water would help hydrate her. After drying off from the luxurious shower—even with only one nozzle her shower was luxurious—she put on one of the new sun-dresses. She hadn't realized how long her hair had gotten in Sweden, since she'd always pulled it back, but she spent some effort to genuinely style it. One legacy of her Dutch ancestry was her thick, straw-colored hair. With the hours and hours of Swedish sunshine, it sparkled. Carly had picked up a little makeup in the hotel shop, and she enjoyed being girly for the first time in months. She didn't do it very often, but she enjoyed it nonetheless. Her mother always looked impeccable with that perfectly made up face that looked ready for any impromptu gala it might encounter.

Now she just had to wait. It was nine-thirty, and she'd be either be meeting her mystery benefactor or getting a phone call in half an hour. She looked at the room service menu, but felt too queasy to eat anything. She did notice, with some amusement, that "Tower vampire-rooms are garlic-free."

She settled on a club soda. She thought about a gin and tonic, or a glass of wine, but wanted to take in this experience with as many of her faculties intact as possible.

At five till ten, the phone rang and waves of relief rolled off of Carly. "Um...hello?"

"Ms. Michael?"

"Yes, this is Carly."

"Well, Carly. This is Eric Northman. Dr. Crump says she suspects you might know me better as Erik Ulfriksson."

_Oh my god. He's a thousand years old. A thousand years old. Alive when the Normans—fuck, they were his relatives—conquered the Anglo-Saxons. _"Um..yes...it's a pleasure to speak with you. On behalf of all my colleagues, thank you so much for the opportunity to excavate the site..."

"Ms. Michael, please, forgive me for interrupting. I wanted to call you a few minutes to ten to let you know that I'm downstairs in the lobby. I thought it might upset you if I walked into the suite."

_Downstairs. Downstairs in the lobby. Walking into the suite. In a minute. Erik Ulfriksson, thousand year old Viking. Beautiful, thousand year old Viking. Or maybe he was hideous after a thousand years. _

_But he was here, vampire, and would walk into the suite in just a few minutes._

"Yes, thank you. That was very thoughtful of you."

"Enough pleasantries. I'll see be there shortly."

Carly stood, breathed deeply, and completely lost track of her own mind. Suddenly a swell of feelings took hold of her, the internal chatter of all the hotel guests rising up like the crescendo of a symphony the size of the Empire State building. She thought she might fall over, pass out, swoon like dear Uncle Benjamin, until she laughed at the recollection of him. His memory was enough to help her gather herself up, straighten up, and remember she was a strong, respected young scientist, who was invited here to talk about archeology. She wasn't here because she was "one of _those people._"

A hard rap at the door brought her out of her reverie, and before she was fully turned toward the door, Eric Northman stood before her with the long artifact case in his hand.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N I hope I haven't made you wait so long you've given up on ever seeing Eric in the story. Here he is. As always, I own nothing having to do with True Blood or the Southern Vampire Mysteries.

Chapter Five

Carly didn't know what kind of expression her face wore as she looked at Eric Northman. His face looked exactly as she remembered it, although clean-shaven. His forehead was broad, and his hair—_is it lighter?_-was swept up and off his face, brushed neatly onto his shoulders. His cleft chin was strong, but unscathed, with a jawline that went smoothly and evenly up to his skull. His cheekbones were high and offered a platform for his blue eyes to survey the room.

His expression seemed, as best as Carly could understand it, perplexed. She immediately tried to dip into his thoughts and got nothing but white noise, not like a thousand voices speaking simultaneously, but like a fan or an air conditioner humming. Something was there, but she couldn't clearly identify it. Then she realized that was exactly the look on Eric Northman's face. He sensed something, apparently, that he couldn't identify.

"Ms. Michael. I appreciate your indulgence. Thank you for meeting me."

"Thank you for the luxurious flight and the room. And the dig, most of all, thank you for the dig."

Eric leaned the case against the inner door, slipped off his jacket and nudged against the wall. A door popped open, and Carly jumped slightly. Eric laughed. "We have to keep up appearances. If there aren't a few hidden doors, what will people think?"

And that just seemed, at that moment in time, at that late hour, the funniest thing that Carly had ever heard, and she started to laugh, not just a chuckle or a titter, but a full-bellied, eye-watering laugh that ended in an inelegant snort.

"Oh, my god. Excuse me. I'm sorry. That was just so funny."

"I have moments, I'm told." And then she saw that smile that Erik Ulfriksson had flashed endearingly at his mother, and Carly was charmed. Even without much of any experience with men, even fewer that ended well, and with full knowledge that she at that moment stood in a secluded hotel room with a thousand year old vampire, she was unwilling to perceive herself as anything other than safe, enjoying the virtuous company of a witty man of the world. She felt as she did when she was around Uncle Benjamin and his male friends, although she was fairly certain that this gorgeous creature in front of her preferred women, or at least preferred women a thousand years ago.

"Please, sit." Eric gestured toward the sunken seating area that he reached in three strides of impossibly long legs. He lifted the sphere and put it on the floor. It probably weighed about a hundred pounds, but he moved it as if it were an errant beach ball. He retrieved the artifact case and laid it on the table in the center of the room.

Carly hadn't yet had time to move, when Eric said, "Excuse me, I'm sorry, I have to make a call to the front desk. Please sit while I deal with this..." he paused, searching for a word, "issue."

Eric jumped out of the pit and onto the main floor and rushed into his room to use the phone.

"Yes, you can help me. This is Eric Northmen. Yes, hello. I need some information. Has housekeeping changed its cleaning solutions recently, or have you changed the laundry detergent you're using for linens?"

The pause in the conversation suggested that the front desk attendant needed to ask someone who might know something. Carly sniffed around, and couldn't smell anything at all. The room smelled clean and surprisingly well-ventilated since metal shutters had been down over the windows since she'd arrived.

"Yes, I'm still here." Another pause, "Really? Nothing has changed since the last time I was here." The perplexed look seemed to deepen. "No, there's no problem with it. It's just a somewhat...distracting smell. A good smell, really, startlingly good. It reminds me of Swedish honey. I was just hoping that I could bring the smell home somehow." Eric hung up the phone abruptly.

"My apologies, Carly," he said, striding back into the seating area. He sat, inhaled deeply, and looked at her.

"No problem, really, Mr. Northman." Carly sensed a more awkward than usual lull in the conversation approaching. "So, well, I guess I'm having a little bit of trouble figuring out exactly why I'm here."

"Why?"

"I'm sorry, sir, this is really an unprecedented situation for an archaeologist to find herself in. Usually, my job is to visualize the remains that we find at a dig, and to assist the other anthropologists, art historians, and historians as they reconstruct the site and figure out how it was used. I'm not accustomed to native informants."

Eric leaned forward. "Would you please stop calling me 'Mr. Northman' and 'sir'?" Carly felt chastened. To be on a first name basis with a wealthy benefactor would be one thing, after a substantial acquaintanceship, or within a common social network, but this man, although he looked not a day over thirty-five, was a thousand years old.

"Please, Carly." His stare was unyielding, unblinking, and Carly was shaken.

"Eric, then. I'd like to know what I can tell you that you don't already know yourself." To make a point, Carly opened the case, turned it toward Eric, and pointed at the reproduction of the Mjolnir from the dig. "This has your name on it. You're alive, in front of me, and I found this in a dead man's hand." The stress of the situation was starting to wear on her manners and her patience. She didn't know what time it was in Sweden, but she was fairly certain that it was a time when she should be sleeping.

"Simple logic suggests that you would know how it came to be there. The most likely solution is that you put it there. Why do you need me here?"

Eric reclined and repositioned himself, looking at her with a combination of amusement and distrust. "How much do you remember of your childhood, Carly?"

"Some parts of it I remember well, some parts I don't."

"Do you remember your father's death?"

Eric could have skewered no more sensitive spot in Carly's psyche if he'd tried. "No. I don't. I don't even remember seeing him. I just know him from his pictures."

"And how long ago was that?"

Carly crossed her arms, like a petulant child, "It seems as if you know quite well how long ago it was, Eric, since you know he's dead."

"I just happened to be in the area at the time. It was the cause _celebre _of New York society."

"If it's all right, I would prefer not to talk about my father's death. I don't remember it—it was twenty-four years ago. I was just two."

Eric leaned forward rapidly again, as if a spring had shot him forward. "And I don't recall my father's death terribly well either. After all, it was a thousand years ago."

They stared at each other.

"Point taken. My apologies for being rude."

"Carly, you weren't rude. You were practical, and I appreciate practicality. You have things to do, and I've interrupted them to pester you with questions. I'm hopeful the answers will jog my memory, and I can address as of yet unfinished..."

"...issues?"

Eric smiled again, "Yes, I suppose. An all-purpose word."

"I have my copy of the field notes in my bag and some other materials." Carly had planned to reveal the portrait once Dr. Crump had the official site report finished, but perhaps she'd give it to him tonight. "Would you mind if I got them from my room?"

"By all means."

Carly went into her room to get her files and her large portfolio case. When she came back into the living room, Eric was facing away from her, stretching. He was like an eagle, with a massive span. She tried to calculate quickly. She'd never been good without her tools. _He must be almost two meters tall. Within top one percent of the population for Scandinavia in that period. This was truly a king's son, standing right in front of her_.

He turned suddenly. "Carly, would you mind if I had something to drink? I ate before I came here tonight, but this smell, it's making me hungry...and..." He looked at her with eyes unlike any she'd ever seen on a man, "distracted."

Her voice cracked as she said it, "Sure. No problem."

"My turn to my room."

His absence gave Carly a little room to breathe, although she dreaded sitting there while a vampire sucked on a jar of blood. _Eww._ Carly always ran away whenever anyone started talking about ritual blood-drinking, or, worse, cannibalism. She had a very hard time getting through Oceanic and Austronesian Anthropology in college.

"That will take a minute to heat up," Eric returned. "Would it be possible for you to describe the excavation process to me. Dr. Crump sent me diagrams and some copies of photographs, but I don't really understand the process by which you began, so I have difficulty interpreting the significance of your findings."

Although site surveying had not been Carly's responsibility, she was the primary photographer on the team, so she understood how they had used ground-penetrating radar to establish the boundaries for the excavation, and how they had gridded off the active portions of the dig one at a time. She couldn't call up the same enthusiasm for the midden that Dr. Crump always seemed to have, but she explained its significance, and Eric seemed genuinely interested in its distance from the core of the dig that had yielded the scorched remains of the long house and the grave of what she now knew to be his parents and little sister.

Eric had been considerate enough to use an insulated commuter cup for his blood, and to sit kitty-corner from her so that she didn't have to see the cup, so it didn't bother her terribly. He didn't seem to have any fangs, either. There'd been a lot of debate in the media about fangs, their purpose, their position, or their authenticity. Vampires, despite their initial claims that they wanted to walk arm in arm with humanity and make the world a better place for everyone, had not been quick to lay out all their secrets, so rumors, as per usual, spread more quickly than facts. They refused outright scientific interest in their metabolism, or their blood, claiming that they feared extermination by religious zealots who might be able to exploit that information and somehow weaponize a biological agent that could be used on a genocidal scale. Although she yearned, as most scientists did, for the information, Carly certainly appreciated the vampire position on the issue. Humans had never done well demonstrating their humanity to one another. Why would they do any better to another sentient species?

Once Eric finished his blood meal, and seemed to understand the excavation process, he excused himself again. Carly took the opportunity to run to the toilet and get another club soda from the refrigerator. Since he seemed particularly sensitive to smells, she didn't want to risk offending Eric with any of the fruit juice.

He seemed to Carly to take a greater amount of time than she'd expected, especially since his bedroom didn't have a toilet. The suite was painfully quiet, and she couldn't hear any sounds coming from his space, until she suddenly heard a muted cry. It sounded like someone squealing when a favorite football team scored a goal, or when..._Please god, don't let him have been in there doing that._ Whenever she lived in an apartment complex with thin walls, or went on a dig, she struggled to shut out the sights and sounds (both psychically and physically) of masturbation from the young men around her. She really hoped that the thousand year old vampire in the other room hadn't been doing that. She thought that there had to be a point in life when men got over that. A thousand years seemed like plenty of time.

About five minutes later, Eric returned, quiet and apologetic. "I'm sorry. I'm having some trouble staying clear-headed tonight. I just needed a minute."

_I hope the women in your life get more than a minute_. "That's fine. I'm tired too."

Carly put the field notes on the floor and asked "What else can I tell you? Now that you know about the organization of the dig."

"I'm interested in the reproductions. Your craftmanship is superb."

"Thank you. It's actually a lot of fun. Depending on the state of the item, you either make a plastic cast, or produce a three-dimensional image in AutoCad based on photographs. I think some departments have 3-D scanners prototypes, but I've never seen one." Carly went on for some time, and Eric seemed to sit in rapt attention as she enumerated the challenges the artist faced in each circumstance.

"Tell me about the Mjolnir, and when it was found." Carly had wondered why he'd never picked it up the whole time they were talking. It sat in its stabilizing foam with the zoomorphic side up and the runic inscription down.

"It was found after Ulfrik's skeleton was removed from the soil and placed on the examination table. We try to sift soil samples to catch fragments of bone, or beads, and if the hands are grasped, as his seem to have been..."

"His hand was tied." He'd accessed a memory. He looked up at her, almost frightened. "I tied his hand shut around the pendant with a leather strap."

"So he could keep hold of the pendant?"

"Yes," he smiled just a little, as if laughing inwardly at a childish belief, "I didn't want him to drop it in Odin's hall."

They remained quiet for a minute. Eric straightened up. "But what is that Biblical quotation, 'When I was a boy...' I was a boy."

"As afterlife myths go, Valhalla's pretty cool." Carly tried to lighten the mood, even though their conversation was perhaps the darkest she'd ever had or heard out loud.

"No, not bad. The raider spends his life in battle, and drink, and women, dies, and does it all over again, only to be annihilated and made new." Eric let out a little chuckle. "There definitely could be worse."

Carly got an idea and needed to act on it quickly before the moment disappeared, and she chickened out. "Could you hold on again for a second?" She darted into her room and rummaged in her camera bag. She'd picked up a pendant—a silver sun—on a deerskin cord when she'd first arrived in Sweden. She'd worn it the whole time she was at the dig, but had taken it off when she realized she might be meeting a vampire. She pulled the silver pendant off and stuffed it deep in her bag and ran back out into the living room. Without any preamble, Carly plucked the Mjolnir out of the foam and strung it on the deer skin cord.

"It's yours. Or at least, it's like yours—better now that it's gold. You should wear it." Carly held it out in front of her, leaning across the distance that separated them to hand it to Eric.

He put his hand through the circle the cord made, and she dropped the necklace onto his hand. He looked at it sheepishly, "When Dr. Crump told me about the hammer," I wanted it so badly. I even thought about just retrieving the silver one and having a reproduction made here. I'd been a fool and gone to the site. But you know that..."

"Oh, my god." Carly blanched.

"What?"

"You really were there that night." Carly remembered her terror, remembered stumbling through the mud in the dark, and lighting upon Erik Ulfriksson, dressed not as himself—as the tenth century Viking-but as a tall, muscular Michael Kors—black t-shirt, black jacket, black jeans.

"Yes." The light mood was gone again. "Yes, I was. Multiple times during the excavation."

They were silent again, and Eric brought the necklace up to his face. Although Carly wasn't paying close attention to his movements, she saw him inhale deeply and saw his eyelids flutter.

"Why do you breathe?"

"You don't mince words when you're in the mood, do you Carly."

"No, I guess not. I spend a lot of time alone. Solitude degrades the manners, my mother says."

"She's right. I know." He sniffed the necklace again, this time focusing on the cord, drawing in a deep breath as he took in the entire circle of leather. He closed his eyes and smiled.

"We breathe so we can smell and so we can talk. Otherwise, it's not necessary. As you've likely heard, we have an osmotic metabolism." It was as if he suddenly went onto a script.

"I don't know how much of the story I believe."

"What story?"

"The vampire story. The press conference you so kindly made sure we saw, or the press releases. Viruses don't work that way. They need metabolism, and they produce waste, boatloads of it." She felt herself priming for a scientific argument, but Eric seemed disinclined to oblige.

"So what, Dr. Michael, do you believe to be the truth about vampires?" Eric was able to hold himself with a nearly impossible stillness that cut through her.

"Dr. Crump says it's magic."

"She is a wise woman, isn't she?" Eric punctuated the question by putting the deerskin cord over his head. It only just fit, even though it had been loose on Carly. The silver pendant had hung between her breasts, but the Mjolnir hung just over the top of Eric's sternum.

"Do you know what the runes say?"

"One of the Swedish anthropologists told me that the inscription means, 'I was made for Erik Ulfriksson.'" Carly recalled her conversation with Tuva and realized that the discussion of wolves, and wolf-men, was inevitable.

"That's right. My uncle had it cast for me when I was a boy, probably eight or nine."

"Why did you live with your uncle?"

"I doubt we have time tonight to discuss the complexities of the Germanic fosterage system. Let's just say this: boys are problems. If you raise your own son, in your own household, and you're attacked, that's it. Your line is finished and your people are enslaved. If you raise a proud son in your own household, he'll nudge you off a cliff and claim your kingship too early, and your people suffer a tyrant. The solution was to send boys off to live with their mother's brothers." Eric smiled. "My uncle Edvard was a good man. Courageous, adventurous, patient. I was lucky."

"What about your..." Carly cut herself off. She didn't know how much Eric knew about her own process. He hadn't yet asked about the reconstructions, and why they were so accurate, and how she was certain that he was Erik Ulfriksson, but if she asked about his dead brothers, she'd tip her hand, and he'd know she was different. It was bad enough that he already seemed to think that she smelled good.

"My what?" Eric raised an eyebrow.

"Your mother. Didn't she miss you?"

"Yes, but she was also glad that I was alive and being taught well. Kings, even petty kings like my father, couldn't afford to spend time teaching their sons swordsmanship, or how to build a boat, or how to compose a poem. They had work to do, diplomacy to manage, raids to plan. He had to stay closer to home to make sure that his people had a home."

Eric returned from his recollection and looked straight at her. "Before you asked about my lungs, we were talking about my visits to the site. Do you recall the night you saw me?"

"Which time?"

"Really?" His smile broadened.

"Yes, well, I only saw you clearly once, that night, when I fell. Before, I saw you standing at the edge of the grid looking at the excavation."

"Then you did see me twice. But I'm much more interested in your recollection of the night we locked eyes. When you fell." He looked conspiratorial.

"I wasn't feeling well, and I'd been having nightmares. I have nightmares while I'm working on reconstructions."

"Then," he chuckled, "sweet Carly, you have made an exceptionally poor career choice."

He'd seen through the lie that Marlena accepted wholesale. But Carly wouldn't try to undo it, she'd just keep going and see what happened. "So I'd had a bad nightmare, and got disoriented, and tried to get to the toilet. And I fell. Well, right after I saw you, I fell."

"As I recall, you were screaming bloody murder, as if you were being pursued."

"It was a very, very bad dream."

"You've said." He squinted at her, as if he were focusing a lens on a camera. "After you fell, what happened."

"I was out. I have no idea how long, but I was filthy, and disoriented, and I went back to the trailer."

"Where you worked? Where your sculptures were? Why were you there in the middle of the night."

Carly was beginning to feel like she was being interrogated. "I have nightmares while I'm working on reconstructions, so I didn't want to bother anyone. I slept in the trailer."

"And when you woke up?"

"I was filthy, and the room was a disaster."

"And you smelled of turpentine and sewage, as I recall."

_He was there? In my trailer? _"I'm sorry. Do you mean you were in my trailer?"

"Only briefly, because of the most emergent circumstances. And had you not smelled so terrible, I would have stayed a little while longer, perhaps made your acquaintance then." Eric raised the cord to his nose and inhaled again, clearly aroused.

"Emergent circumstances? What?" Carly remembered the dream, the horrible dream of struggling with the wolf, watching her baby, no, Astrid's baby thrown across the hall, bloodied and battered.

"Do you recall the state of your pencil when you awoke?"

The bloody pencil. Yes, and not a spot of blood on any of her drawings. "What about it? It was bloody."

"Very much so. I was watching you through the window, thrashing around, almost convulsing, going on and on in Swedish, Old Swedish, at that, and then you stabbed your throat with the pencil." Eric looked down at his nails.

"But..I woke up without any marks at all. I was fine. I checked. Marlena looked me over." Dumbstruck, Carly went back through the whole chain of events as she remembered them.

"I don't dispute that fact. I would like to point out that you didn't notice how terrible you smelled, but that's another discussion." He looked her directly in the eyes. "I healed you. I gave you my blood."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N The reviews are so wonderful to read! Thank you. As before, I have no claim of ownership of the character Eric Northman, or anything else having to do with True Blood or the Southern Vampire Mysteries.

Chapter 6

His blood. Somewhere inside her body, vampire blood moved around in her veins, pumped through her heart, expanded through her lungs. Not just any vampire. The blood of Erik Ulfriksson, thousand year old Swedish king, Varangian guardsman, sword master, wood carver, were-wolf killer.

Carly felt as if she were drowning in a soup—one part shock, one part exhilaration, one part disgust.

"What does that mean?"

Eric Northman laughed out loud and seemed to expand into the available space. His arms rested on the top of the sofa and he crossed his legs, his right ankle resting on his left knee. "It means my blood is inside you. I can feel where you are, although I cannot sense how you feel." He looked straight at her again. "And, strangely, I find that frustrates me."

For the first time during this strange encounter, Carly felt like trapped animal, something small, like a rabbit, that had just drawn the attention of a panther.

"Why?"

"Because I want to know what you are."

"I'm an anthropologist."

Eric smiled at her and brushed one of his stray hairs back into place. "Try again, Carly."

"I'm an artist."

Silence.

"And a knickerbocker. But I don't like to talk too much about that."

"I've eaten in New York, and none of them smell like you."

"What, like turpentine and sewage?"

"Not right now." Before she could blink, Eric Northman was next to her. He inhaled again. "Tonight, you smell like honey gathered from the edge of a wheatfield in summertime."

"Look. Mr. Northman, I'm really, really uncomfortable with this. I think I need you to sit back over on the other side of the sofa." Carly couldn't even level her eyes with his.

"And, Carly, I've grown impatient." Stridently, he said, "Look at me, Carly."

She was too stunned to disobey, so she looked right into his eyes, his beautiful, gold-flecked eyes, as clear as his father's, with as much life in them as his sister's. She'd painted those eyes and grown to admire them and love them as much as if they had belonged to her own family.

Then she felt the strangest sensation. She felt caught up in a wave, the way she sometimes did when she was dreaming, caught up and forced against a smooth limestone cliff with water pouring over her head muffling the sound of the world. The sensation was not unlike drowning, although she never suffered from it

But just as suddenly, the waters receded, and she was exactly as she had been, awake and frightened.

"Carly, you are going to give yourself to me. You'll let me rip through that sweet virginity of yours and explore your mysteries. It will be wonderful for you, and you'll come back to me for more. You won't scream when I taste your blood, or any other part of you. But when you get to Shreveport, you will never disclose anything about me to anyone, not my age, or my origin. I will be an acquaintence, just another modest Shreveport business owner. Do you understand?"

Carly couldn't help but nod. She needed every second she could before he forced himself on her. Even though he was beautiful, the kind of man who became a movie star, she wasn't ready for something like this. She couldn't just "give herself" to someone. She'd never even finished a kiss properly.

She needed to figure out an exit strategy. Twice she'd worked with unidentified remains that turned out to be those of rape victims, and she'd had to endure their pain and humiliation, the feeling of being weighted down with a disgusting mass, penetrated by a hot poker, before finally being strangled or stabbed. Both women had panicked, and, as she'd searched their lives for their reflections, she'd seen moments where they could have found help, where they could have acted to get away, or at least have caused enough damage to their attackers that they wouldn't have had to suffer so much. Carly had to find that way out now. Nodding seemed the first step in getting away, getting to a phone, since he was between her and the exit and she knew he would beat her to the door and block her egress.

"Carly, now I want you to go in your bathroom and get yourself ready for me. Urinate and use the bidet. I have some things in my room that will make this more pleasurable for you. Okay?"

He'd never blinked once while he held onto her gaze.

"Okay."

They both rose and went to their respective corners. She shut the bathroom door. _No lock. There's no fucking lock_. He seemed to be able to smell anything, so he could probably hear extraordinarily well too. She turned on the water, and grabbed the phone to call the front desk.

"Good evening, front desk, how may I help you?"

"Hello, yes, hi, this is Carly Michael in Eric Northman's suite. Room 901. Yes, umm, I think I'm going to be sexually assaulted. If I don't get down to the front desk in five minutes, please call the police."

"Excuse me, ma'am, what did you say?"

"I said that I'm in Eric Northman's suite, and I think he's planning to rape me, and I want to get out." Panic started to mount. "If I'm not at the front desk in five minutes, please call the police."

Silence. Maybe this was why the woman at reception was thinking about "those people" when she checked in. "Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry. If I don't see you in five minutes, I'll call the police."

Carly had been staring at the wall over the toilet the entire time she'd been talking on the phone. She turned toward the mirror as she went to hang up the phone, and saw that Northman was behind her, a bottle of lubricant in his hand.

She jumped, more shocked to see him there than frightened, although she was terrified. She dropped the phone and knocked one of the heavy crystal glasses into the marble sink, breaking it into a dozen pieces.

"Why did you do that?" Eric's voice suggested confusion rather than anger.

Even though she was trapped against the marble vanity, Carly felt like she would have a better chance reasoning with him if she turned to face him than if she talked to his reflection in the mirror.

"Because I'm afraid, and I want to get out of here before you hurt me."

"Why are you afraid?"

It was just too ridiculous a statement. She couldn't restrain laughing in deep gasps that made her slump at the waist. "Are you serious?"

"Yes. Why don't you want to have sex with me?" Again, he spoke with a distance in his voice that suggested that he couldn't understand a world in which a woman wouldn't let him "rip through her virginity."

"Look. I know that I've been stupid. I shouldn't be here. I should have refused every gift—the flight, the hotel, all of it. You've got the wrong impression. But you have to understand, I'm not some whore."

"Of course not. You're extraordinary."

"Sweet talk would have been a better idea twenty minutes ago, Mr. Northman." Carly had hoped that this encounter could end on her terms. He seemed willing to relent, or at least defer.

He reached out his hand to stroke her cheek and she yelled, "No! Don't touch me."

Her anger seemed to stop him in his tracks. "But I spoke to you in the living room?"

"Is that your idea of romance? I should have known that some thousand year old Viking would go all cave man on me." Frustration welled up inside her and got the better of her. "Of course, maybe you've never had to be a cave man. Maybe it was just enough to be Eric, this tall, beautiful man with a smile that could charm a million Byzantine harem girls into opening their legs for you. But I'm not going to be intimidated into sleeping with a man I barely know."

He took a step back, closer to the door of the bathroom.

_Fuck. Shit. _In her anger, she'd disclosed a detail that she could only know from being with his family.

"How do you know that?"

"About what?" Maybe she had time to smooth this over. Maybe since he'd stepped back, she'd made her point.

His gaze hardened, but then the hardness evaporated. He looked around at the bathroom, down at the bottle of lubricant, and then back at Carly and seemed ashamed.

"I'm very sorry. I never meant to hurt you."

"Good."

"I'd like to speak more with you about your...process...about your drawings."

"My drawings?"

"Yes, the drawings I took."

Realization took hold of her. Only her pencil was bloodied that night. There wasn't any blood in her room, or on her neck. A wave of nausea came at her again. He must have licked the blood away.

"Yes, I'd like that. I want to know what happened."

Eric turned and walked out of her room and back to his own. She crumpled, turned on the tap, and splashed her face with cold water.

When she came out into the living room, Eric Northman was seated in his original position, staring at a massive plastic bag of drawings that were covered in gore.

"You better go to the front desk, before the police come."

"I'll just call."

"No, you better go." His voice was dry and practical again. "I could be threatening you and forcing you to make the call."

"I guess so."

She grabbed the key card and slipped her shoes back on. "I'll be back in a minute."

On the way down the elevator, Carly considered her options. The most reasonable thing to do would be to go to the front desk and ask the clerk to send a—she couldn't remember what they were called—baggage handler or a valet up to her room to gather her things. It would be rude, but prudent, and would let Northman know that she was still afraid of him.

But if he knew where she was, if he'd put some creepy nanoscale GPS in her circulatory system, then she'd just have to deal with him again, and his ruffled feathers would probably be dangerous to her. He seemed quieted when she left the room. She would go back and try to find out what happened that night and also try to figure out why he seemed so upset that she didn't just spread herself out on the bed and take it. Something was going on. It wasn't just his wounded pride bothering him. He seemed to want to understand what she was, almost as much as she did. With a thousand years of experience, maybe he could be a resource for her.

When the elevator doors opened, she felt the rush of thoughts and desires from the hundred people milling around the lobby and spilling out of the bar. She had trouble holding them off, so she resorted to her tried and true strategy, the one she'd learned from the Buddhist monks her mom would bring in. She just remained unattached, letting the thoughts wash over her, never catching hold of any one long enough to know what it was.

At the front desk, Carly looked for the only woman on duty. She was probably the same person who had checked her in and the person she'd talked to on the phone.

"Hi, I'm Carly Michael."

"Yes," she smiled, "I remember you. Is everything all right? Are you okay?" The hotel clerk seemed genuinely sympathetic.

"Yes, I'm fine. Mr. Northman and I just had a misunderstanding. I'm sorry to have caused him any embarrassment."

"I'm sure he'll understand." The woman paused long enough to think, and this thought rammed into Carly; she couldn't escape it: _I wouldn't say no if he asked, no matter how he did it._

"Well, thanks again for being understanding."

Carly went back to the elevators for her return to the room. The worse case scenario would be that he'd attack her right inside the door. The best case scenario would be that they talked through the night, and she'd exhaust herself remembering the werewolves that ripped his family apart in front of him. No matter what, it wasn't going to be a tea party.

She stood for a moment in the "light lock" and gathered herself together. Her mother had a way of walking into a room that said "I'm here, let the games begin." Carly tried to invoke that same Imperial posture as she opened the interior door and moved back to her original position across from Northman.

He looked as if he hadn't blinked, or moved, while she was away. He sat there, worry apparent in the furrow above his nose.

"Okay. I've called off the dogs."

He lifted his eyes to meet hers. "You're unusual, Carly. I shouldn't have presumed to treat you that way. I see, now, that you're...different."

She hated that word. It reminded her of every unpleasant function she had ever attended with her mother, every gallery opening, every dinner party. Once she'd turned sixteen, she "joined society" and had to attend all those events. Carly hated to complain, even to herself, really, because her mother had done so much to accommodate her "differences." When Carly was small, Edna had noticed how she winced whenever she shook hands with someone. She'd asked Carly why she did that. "It stings, mother. Like a bee. And I feel sick."

Edna's solution to the problem had been as understated and elegant as she was. She took to wearing white gloves, or black gloves at night, to every function, and cultivating a Jackie-O fashion aesthetic that never really caught on, but was admired as stylish nonetheless. When her well-dressed daughter showed up in gloves, no one thought twice.

"I gather that you have little trouble with the ladies, Mr. Northman. But I'll be honest. I have trouble with men...well...with people."

"Dr. Crump warned me as much."

"I wish you had listened."

"I should have." He leaned forward again, "I won't try to force my...will... onto you again."

"Thank you." Carly pointed at the drawings. "Why did you take these?"

"I'm not entirely sure. They smelled foul too. That's why the bag is sealed." Carly realized that the bag they were in was an industrial strength plastic bag meant to keep in chemicals and other contaminants. "Perhaps it would do me good to open it. It might dispace your...aroma."

"Could you please stop talking about that?" Carly feared the conversation would regress if she didn't take action.

He smiled briefly, and then pulled out a pocket knife that looked a hundred years old. It had been sharpened so many times the blade was only three quarters of an inch thick. It made quick work of the bag, and he seemed braced for some horrible stench. But then he relaxed.

"Well, that's a relief."

"It doesn't stink?"

"No, not at all." He opened it and inhaled and fangs popped out in front of his teeth with an audible snap.

"Oh, my god." Carly stood up to get out of there as fast as she could.

"Carly, I'm sorry. Please don't leave."

Carly heard another snap. She turned and looked at him.

"All gone, see?" He smiled broadly and winningly again. "I usually can control it, but the fragrance took me by surprise."

"I'm sorry. I think I better go."

"Please, please don't."

"My blood made fangs sprout out of your head in a way you say you can't control, and you want me to stay?" She laughed nervously, "Seriously?"

"I wasn't expecting it." He implored her, "Please stay."

"Okay." She sat down and crossed her arms. An idea occurred to her. "So my blood didn't smell that way the night you helped me?"

"Well, no. Actually, I can't say for certain. The smell was so overwhelming, I don't remember smelling blood as a unique component on the scene." He was still as he remembered. "I recall feeling vaguely sick."

Carly finally felt as if she could ask the question she'd been dreading. "So...did you drink my blood that night?"

He laughed. "No, I didn't have any appetite."

"Why was my neck clean?"

"I wiped it off with a damp towel. If I hadn't wanted to get out of there so badly, I probably would have washed you off entirely." He smirked again.

"Why?"

"First, you're lovely. Second, because my mother would have wanted me to."

Carly had forgotten that Astrid's reconstruction was nearly finished when she'd dreamed of her death. "You recognized her from my reconstruction?"

His face was still. "Yes. She was beautiful."

"You resemble her."

"Thank you, that's the most meaningful compliment I've received in a millenium." His charm returned, blazing across the living room at her.

Uncomfortable, and warm, Carly shifted in her seat. "You never told me what it would do to me."

"My blood? Well, it healed you. A vampire's blood has certain...properties."

"I'd like a list."

"How did you feel after that night?"

Carly went back through her memories. It was difficult to separate out how she felt because of this infusion of vampire blood and how she felt because she hadn't had to dream any more deaths. From that point on, she'd felt lively, energetic, a little more engaged with the people around her, more talkative. She'd even briefly entertained trying to get to know John a little bit better, since he seemed to find her attractive. She hadn't, but the thought had crossed her mind.

"I felt good. Strong. But I'd also stopped...having nightmares."

"I'm not a fool, Carly."

Anxiety surged into her chest, the sensation like hot peppers rubbed over her skin. "No, you're probably not."

He leaned toward her again so quickly she couldn't see him change positions. "So tell me how this works. How did you recognize me? How did you know I'd been in the Varangian guard?"

She still didn't feel safe, like she'd felt with Dr. Crump. She couldn't tell him.

"I used to do sketch portraits for other grad students and professors who were expecting babies. There are only about eight different variables for how faces can turn out, so I'd show them how their kids might look. You look like a combination of your mother and father. Since they had a similar heritage, there were just fewer variables."

"You want me to believe that?"

"It's true. Most of them are framed. I can call up my dissertation director, and you can see the one I did for her son." She wasn't lying about the portraits. It had actually gotten fairly tiresome. People came to expect them from her, like she was knitting up a baby blanket or something she make while watching tv. It was work, but it was one of the few ways she connected with people without suffering, so she did it.

"And the Varangian Guard?"

"Dr. Crump gave us a reading list before the dig. I had to read a book called _The Viking Road to Byzantium_." She'd never counted on a past tense verb for so much help. She'd read that book for a report in college when she took an Old Norse literature class. Dr. Crump would never have assigned it to the team.

"One of the most eminent archaeologists in northern Europe had you reading about memorial stones in Turkey?"

_Shit. He's read it. _

"Look. You're Swedish, you're a man. You're six and a half feet tall, practically, where the average would have been 5' 8". Of course you would have been in the Varangian Guard. There was probably a Varangian Guard recruiter who came after you." She was spinning out of control again, which was why she hated lying. As a result, she din't really talk to many people about her internal life, so she wasn't particularly good at it either. "You were the youngest son. Why wouldn't you have gone to Byzantium?"

And with that, he leaned backward again, arms stretching against the top of the sofa, as if he'd just won a chess match.

Her head fell into her hands, and she just shook it back and forth.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Carly couldn't tell how much time had passed. Eric Northman hadn't made a sound, there weren't any clocks in the room, and the suite was insulated from the rest of the world by metal shutters that kept out traffic noise as well as they kept out light.

No one had ever pushed her to reveal her secrets, perhaps because no one, besides Dr. Crump, was willing to admit something otherworldly about her skills. Everyone assumed that she was odd—she knew that some quietly debated whether she was "on the spectrum" when they thought she was out of earshot. The other students in the anthropology and art programs in New Mexico all assumed that she'd been sent west to keep her out of sight, as if she shamed her mother somehow with her strangeness. Only one or two of her fellow students knew that her mother rented a lovely house for her, with thick adobe walls that kept out the sounds of the neighborhood, with a guestroom that was always ready for Edna's arrival, or that she'd racked up enough frequent flier miles to circumnavigate the globe three times during Carly's college career. Shame had never been in her mother's heart or mind.

Yet here Carly was, in an isolated room with a thousand year old vampire, at one o'clock in the morning, and she was about to tell him everything.

Carly finally looked up, unsurprised to find Eric still the same triumphant position.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

"Everything has no starting point."

He reached into the pouch of drawings and brought them out. He fanned them across the artifact case, which had gone largely undiscussed since she'd strung the Mjolnir for him.

"Perhaps we can start with these."

Carly hadn't really looked at many of the drawings she'd done while she slept in the trailer, although those that she did examine carefully were nothing like these. The drawings that she kept in the front of her files were portraiture, or life-sketches, interactions between people. If they looked like anything, they looked like the sketches that might be done in a courtroom. They were quick, evocative, and light. She'd avoided looking at the sketches that were blackened, dark around the edges, the sketches she knew were heavy with terror, or that had been done with broken pencils.

These drawings had few faces in them, at least human faces. They seemed to have an order to them. They captured movement, the contortion of a wolf's neck as it roared to one side—probably having just cast a baby away to its death. There were open jaws, the stuff of horror movies, lunging out of the paper at the viewer, and then there was a bloodied head and trunk, hanging off the edges of the paper—a man, appearing from nowhere, suddenly and horrifically dead.

The last sketch was drenched in blood. Some of the drawing was more blood than pencil. She realized that she must have stabbed herself in the neck when she dreamed of Astrid tearing away at the wolf's throat with her mother's knife.

Carly looked across at Eric Northman, who had taken on the posture of a therapist, or a compassionate guidance counselor interested in some violent story an eighth grader had written. Intent to know the story, but detached enough to protect himself, Eric sat unmoving and unrelenting.

She was not going to leave this room without telling him what she had seen and how she had seen it.

So she started at the beginning.

"When you reconstruct a face, you build from the bone out. Every time your muscles move, they tug a little at the bone, and the bone changes. The tendons attach the muscles to the bone almost the same way that lichen attach to stone. I know that's not scientifically right, but you know how lichen are?"

"Yes."

"It's kind of that way with bone. It's not perfectly smooth. So when you learn to reconstruct a face, you handle the skull, feel the way that the bone changed over time because of the muscles that moved it. Once you know how muscles work, and how much work they've done, you know where the muscles are thick and robust and where they're thin or atrophied."

He was being patient again, listening intently, and Carly was grateful that he let her give him this anatomy lesson.

"Some people do the reconstruction mathematically, figuring out the depth of all the tissues through averages calculated for different regions and ethnic groups. My teachers were more 'touchy-feely.' They thought you needed to feel how the bones had changed. You can tell how fat someone was by the way their bones thicken, and what kind of diet they had by the condition of their teeth. You can tell what diseases they had, or injuries, and so you can figure out the texture of their skin. Do you understand?"

"Yes. I do."

"So, when I was little, I found out that if I handled a bone, I would dream about the person it belonged to. And the more times I handled the bone, the more times I would dream about them."

"Were these dreams vivid?"

"Oh yes. I don't see the person, like you would if you were watching television, or a play. It's like my mind is their mind, like my eyes are their eyes."

All the times it had happened when she was a kid came back to her. Charlie. Audrey, whose left cuboid bone had washed up on the shore when Carly spent the summer in the Hamptons. The poor girl had drowned. Carly didn't know exactly how Audrey's foot bone wound up on the southern side of Long Island until she did a project on "learning to use the _New York Times_ Index" in sixth grade. Carly had kept the bone in her box of seashells, since that's what she'd initially thought it was. Once she'd figured out that Audrey had her tenth birthday in the spring of 1989, the year Carly found the bone, she knew that was the year the girl must have died, since the boat trip was her tenth birthday present. After looking for drownings for that year, Carly found the article.

"Audrey DaVinci, 10 year old resident of Red Bank, NJ, drowned in an Atlantic Ocean boating accident, along with her mother, Margaret DaVinci, and her aunt, Jessica Marvici, also of Red Bank. The child fell off the front of the boat. Her mother and aunt dove in to recover her, but all were overcome by the current. None of the three were wearing life jackets. Her father, Edward DaVinci, has been arrested for manslaughter resulting from drunken boating and is under observation in the psychiatric unit at Monmouth County General Hospital. The bodies of the three victims were recovered, although sharks had consumed portions of each of them."

"So how can you tell what they look like?"

"I have to keep handling their bone and keep dreaming. The more I dream of them, the more of their life I live. Usually I see some reflection of them. The first time I saw a person he was admiring a shave his lover had given him. He was dying, in the hospital, so he had a hand mirror."

Eric looked down at the artifact case, and then stroked the inscription on his pendant.

"Your parents didn't take that much dreaming. I could see them through each other's eyes."

He looked up at her and held her in a penetrating gaze. "And that's where you saw me?"

"Yes."

"But how did you know about Byzantium?"

She was moving into elements of her ability beyond what she'd shared with Dr. Crump. Carly hadn't admitted that she had access to the deads' thoughts, or memories, or that she could understand what they were saying, no matter the language they were speaking.

Carly closed her eyes, taking comfort in her recollection of Astrid's love for her son. "Your mother thought of it when she was with you."

"You knew her thoughts." Eric didn't question her. He just stated the obvious conclusion he drew from her admission.

"Yes."

"Could you understand what they were talking about when you were dreaming?"

"Yes."

Quiet fell over the two of them again.

"You heard them talking."

"Yes. I did." She could give this to him. "They were talking about you."

The proverbial tables were turned, and he looked like the therapist's client, grappling with some unspeakable pain.

"They wanted you to get married."

He shook his head. "I remember. I told them I couldn't... I don't remember why...but I couldn't marry. Is that why she thought about Byzantium? Did she think I was going back there?"

"No, she thought of all the women you'd probably slept with while you were there before."

He laughed. "I'm a little embarrassed."

"She knew you weren't a little boy any more." Carly wondered if Eric would remember the buxom red-head who seemed to have his attention all those years ago. "What else can I tell you?"

"You've told me a great deal. And I'm starting to remember the events." Eric looked at his feet. "My desire for one of the serving women took me away from them." He looked to Carly for confirmation. "Yes? Isn't that what happened."

She could only presume he felt some guilt. "To be honest, I don't know. You told them that you had 'business to attend to.' And then you were gone." Talking about the experience made her realize that she wasn't entirely sure how time worked within the dream-scape.

Eric stood up and walked back into his room. Within moments he was back again.

"I'm sorry. I need another cup of blood. I hope you don't mind?"

"No, that's fine. I don't know if I can even imagine what this must be like for you." One advantage of the work that Carly did was that she never had to deal with survivors. If she worked on a recent case, with someone unidentified, a coroner or a medical examiner walked the family through the process of identification. She always remained anonymous, a crafts-person behind the scenes. She rarely even received explicit credit on museum displays. Without any familiarity with the ancient Swedish conventions of grieving, she fumbled through it as best as she could.

"Tell me what you need, and I'll try to do it."

Eric smiled for a moment, and then turned his head away. "The direct approach failed, as I recall."

Carly leaned back, compassion rarefying into anger. "To ease your grief, Eric."

"I'm sure sleeping with you would ease my grief." His tone was light, flirtatious, not demanding.

She looked at him and thought about it. She had no idea what sex did for anyone; she'd never done it. Not only had she not had sex with anyone, she'd never even masturbated to any satisfying end. She had some kind of release from it, but it was nothing like the spine-twisting, soul-clearing ecstasy the few romance novels she'd read suggested orgasm would be. Once or twice, during the very brief time she'd spent in boarding school, she'd stayed very still while her roommate went at it with the vibrator she'd smuggled into the dormitory. Carly knew it was gross and voyeuristic, dipping into her roommate's mind, but she genuinely wanted to know what other people felt, and it felt good, like she was being tickled by a hundred feathers between her ribs and her knees, but it wasn't different from what Carly experienced on those rare occasions she'd done it herself. Whenever Carly strayed across someone's fantasy, she flinched away from it instinctively. Sex with someone who knew how to do it might ease his grief, but then Eric Northman wouldn't be sleeping with Carly Michael.

"I doubt it, Eric."

"And if I tried to convince you, I'm sure you'd call out the hounds again, wouldn't you?"

He'd reminded her of the "convincing" he'd tried earlier. "I've told you something about what I do, so you owe me an explanation. What on earth was it you tried to do to me earlier?"

Eric didn't move, or smirk, so she realized she needed to take a more direct approach.

"Is that the kind of language you use when you want to seduce someone? I can't believe even you're so pretty that all you have to do is tell a woman to go pee and wash up and she'll have sex with you?"

"No. It's not. That wasn't seduction. I'm sorry."

"Then what was that. It felt strange."

"I've never thought about it from the human perspective. What was it like?" Eric seemed genuinely interested again. He looked almost ready to take notes.

"Like a wave hit me. I'm sure you swim."

"Of course." He made a tiny motion with his hands, almost sweeping away the silly suggestion that he couldn't.

"You know when a wave hits you and knocks you over and the water rolls over your head."

"Yes, I learned how to swim in the sea."

"That's how it felt." She struggled for words to describe it. "I could breathe, and I wasn't panicked, but the world was muffled. Like my head was under water, and I was pressed against a cliff and held there."

"That's very interesting." He looked at her with admiration. "You describe emotions and sensations very clearly."

"Thank you." She paused. "What did you do to me to make me feel that way?"

"I made my will your own, or tried to." He grinned. "It's called a glamour, although it isn't a spell."

"I don't understand."

He smiled again. "I haven't had a chance to explain this in some time, You already know the secret of my age, so what's one more secret between friends? You have to understand the only reason I'm telling you is that it doesn't seem to work on you."

"What? Underwater, against a cliff means it didn't work?" Carly was frightened again. Eric could lift a hundred pounds without blinking, could move so fast she could barely see him. _What the hell can vampires do?_

"If it had worked, we'd be basking in the afterglow of our first love-making, and I would be teaching you how to please me while I licked away at your wounds." He smiled widely again, and Carly felt herself blush red.

It was too much for her. "I need another drink. Excuse me."

Eric started laughing gently, "Carly, please don't make any phone-calls. I'm just offering you the simplest explanation."

When she got to the door of her room, she turned, pivoting around 180 degrees to face him, only she couldn't meet his eyes. "I'm not. I'm just not used to talking about things like this. Dr. Crump told you I was awkward."

Despite her frustration with her situation, Carly was excited that she was actually talking about sex with a man. And whenever her eyes took in the sight of him, she realized that she was talking about sex with the most extraordinary looking man that she'd ever seen in the flesh. Men like Eric Northman appeared in museums, carved in marble, or on magazine covers. Carly had met some gorgeous, and generally pompous men when she lived with her mom. The only exception to the pompous rule that she'd ever met was JFK, Jr., whom she met at a New York fundraiser when she was sixteen. She still kept his funeral card in her jewelry box.

When she opened the refrigerator to get her drink she called into the living room, "Don't you have a bottle of blood you need to get?"

"Thank you for reminding me."

Carly returned moments later to the living room with another can of club soda to find that Eric was already there, sipping away at his commuter cup full of blood. Carly sat and slurped down her club soda as quickly as possible, hoping to extinguish the fire in her chest. Even though his astonishing speed raised more questions for her, she said "Tell me more about the glamour."

"Certainly. First the name." Eric took a sip of blood and put down the cup, so he could use both hands as he talked. "It's a misunderstanding. The word 'grammar' meant a spell or an incantation, and the few who survived seeing vampires bend others to their will presumed they'd done it with a spell or incantation."

"I took linguistics—so it's just r/l dissimilation." Carly was happy to be back on familiar territory.

"I didn't take that course." Eric smiled. "But I'm glad the phenomenon has a name. I've learned many languages, so I've seen 'r's and 'l's do peculiar things."

"How many do you know?" Carly's amazement at having a "native informant" awoke again.

"I don't think I could put a number on how many I've known. I only still use ten or twelve regularly. And it's hard for me to tell the difference between different periods of languages? Chaucer seems only little different from Melville." He wrinkled his nose at her, a little like the way an old professor of hers would, "Does that make sense?"

For the first time that evening, Carly smiled broadly and sincerely. "Yes, it does."

They looked at each other for a few seconds, relaxed and content. Eric took another drink.

"But vampires don't use a spell. There are no magic words. We simply say a person's name and stare at her. The Latin name I learned for it was a _deceptio visus_." He looked seriously at her again, "Carly, are you paying attention."

And the wave hit her again and held her at the cliff, then released her.

Eric never blinked or shifted his gaze. "Carly, you will sleep with me and realize what a beautiful, desirable woman you are."

This time she laughed vigorously, "No, Eric Northman, I will not."

"Not tonight." He smiled at her and then slipped back into his professorial tone. "We now know that you feel a vampire's attempt to glamour you, but that the action has no effect. I've never heard of anyone with that ability." He stood up and paced back and forth in front of the suite's door.

"Is anything wrong?" His sudden watchfulness upset her.

"No, but I've lost focus." He kept pacing. "I'm distracted." He winked at her.

The flush happened again and she thought she might need to pace around herself. She wasn't regretting the choices she'd made earlier, and she didn't intend to change her mind, but she knew that he might press the issue if she didn't help him regain his bearings. "Did you want to discuss the other artifacts?"

He jumped over the cushions and sat down across from her again. "Yes. That might help me."

Eric moved the drawings away and rotated the case slightly so that Carly could have a better view.

"They're not arranged in any specific order, although their numbers correspond to notes." She pointed to the thick packet of field notes. Carly picked out the reproduction of the shield boss.

"This was the first bit of gold we found. That was a big moment" She handed it to Eric. "It's from a shield, right."

"That's what it looks like." He weighed the reproduction in his hand. "I don't recognize it. Where did you find it?"

"Um..." _This is so hard. _"It was about four centimeters above the center of your father's torso."

Eric looked at her, and his fingers folded over the boss. "Yes. My father's shield." Eric put the piece back in its foam casing. He plucked out a spear tip. "Nothing special. We had a hundred at any point." He snorted at his unintended pun and smiled at Carly. His fingertips stroked across a sequence of coins, stopping over a Byzantine coin. "It represents Constantine VII."

"Yes, it's a rare coin."

Eric Northman sank into the chair, as if his weight had suddenly tripled, and stared at the coin that perched at the tips of his right hand's first two fingers. He looked away, a thousand miles, or a thousand years away. Without looking at his hands, he started walking the coin back and forth between his fingers.

Carly finished her the last sip of her club soda and sat patiently. She had decided that she couldn't sleep with him to ease his grief, but she could bear witness to it. She would sit until he spoke again.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N This is a slightly shorter chapter, but I hope it keeps you all interested. Again, I own nothing having to do with True Blood or the Southern Vampire Mysteries.

Chapter Eight

Without warning, Eric said, "Her name was Brigid."

"The red-head?" Carly knew the answer to the question, but the memory pained him, so she asked the question gently.

"Yes." He stopped walking the coin between his fingers, tossed it up in the air, and caught it in the palm of his hand. "Did you see her?"

"She was gorgeous."

"And full of fire."

"Did you love her?" Carly asked.

"Who knows?" Eric's honesty was striking to her, but Carly thought that he must have felt something for the woman if he still remembered her name. "I wanted her. And she wanted me as well. She was a Christian, and she'd learned to read Latin from the monks her father kept in his court."

"Brigid was royalty?" Carly couldn't imagine a contemporary princess working as a serving woman and didn't understand why she hadn't been ransomed by her family.

"Her story was complicated." Eric squinted his eyes, apparently struggling to remember the details.

"Your father's men traded her for amber," Carly volunteered.

"How did you learn that?"

"From dreaming your father." Keeping information back would do her no good, and it might actually harm Eric. "He saw you looking at her. He knew you liked her."

Eric was quiet again, and then he finally said earnestly, "Do you know what this coin is, Carly?"

"It's not a Byzantine Constantine VII?" She smiled weakly, hoping she could relieve some of the tension smothering the living room.

"On one side, it's the betrayal of my lineage." He flipped the coin over. "On the other, it's my father's death warrant."

Even having suffered through the wolf attack, and every other violent episode her gift made her endure, Carly had never heard any more self-consciously dramatic statement. Eric's utterance didn't belong in an elegant hotel suite or within a conversation about artifacts. It belonged in an Ingmar Bergman film.

"You found this between them, didn't you?"

Carly nodded.

"Brigid put it there. She was hysterical. She genuinely admired my mother, and had hoped to become her daughter." He grew quiet, and Carly felt compelled to fill the silence with a statement.

"So she wanted to marry you."

"Brigid wanted to share a king's bed. My father told me that when she'd arrived with the cargo, the traders considered her a prize. She'd been kidnapped by Orkeyinga—do you know who they were?"

"They were Norwegians in Orkney, right?"

"And others, but they were canny, and had done well raiding along the Irish coast." Eric closed his eyes again.

"Is it hard to remember?"

He nodded, "She loved to tell me her story, but I've forgotten the names, her town, her father." Sighing, he flicked his fingers and started again, "I sent her away and she married another, so it's no matter what their names were."

Carly was surprised how relieved she was to learn someone survived this attack. She had no idea when Eric became a vampire, so she wasn't even sure if he'd survived it, or at least survived it as a human being. _If the wolves were werewolves, why couldn't there have been vampires?_

"The short version of the story was that she'd been kidnapped in a raid, but the leader of the party was impotent, and couldn't violate her. He didn't want to pass her on to anyone else, because they might realize she was a virgin, and it would shame him. They also couldn't ransom her, a raiding party from Dublin killed her father soon they'd taken her."

"How terrible."

"I wouldn't have wanted to be a woman in my time, Carly." He looked serious and strangely compassionate. _He's not a cave man._

"Brigid stayed with them for about a year, and then came to us. She offered herself to my father—she was seventeen or eighteen and made for children. He told her he didn't take concubines, but she could serve his household with honor, and he would ensure that she was not misused and would retain rights over her body, but that he would send any bastards to the wolves."

The vision of Eric's sister crashing into the floor forced itself on Carly, and she teared up, wincing.

"Even though it sounds barbaric, my father was merciful. I'm sure he didn't really intend to do it, or at least wouldn't have done it to boys. He probably hoped the threat would encourage Brigid's chastity."

Carly didn't need clarification. She knew, most vividly from the sharp sense of synchronicity Astrid had as she thrust her mother's knife into the wolf's throat, that Scandinavians practiced selective infanticide. Astrid was the only girl in her family, and the thirteenth child to survive infancy. Astrid's proud mother had only suckled boy children until she had given her husband a long-boat crew. Her wifely obligation fulfilled, she let a girl live.

Eric continued the story. "I brought home a Byzantine slave, a eunuch who could speak even more languages than I could, and who could write in all of them. He knew a great deal about healing arts as well."

"I didn't know that." Stories about Byzantine slave boys never entered either dream.

"He died much too soon after we got there." Eric smirked. "A few of the men were angry that their wives refused their beds, and they figured out that Euthymius had lived up to his name and raised the women's spirits considerably while they'd been away trading and raiding. When their wives suggested Euthymius could provide instruction, they killed him."

"Oh, my god. What happened to them?"

"They paid me the price they owed for killing Euthymius... and they slept alone from that point forward."

"So had Euthymius raised Brigid's spirits as well?"

Eric laughed, "Without question. And enhanced her skills." He paused. "I could show you." Eric winked again and Brigid ran toward the refrigerator. "You really will have to pee if you keep this up Carly." _Damn it, I do._

Once she came back with an orange juice—she'd depleted the supply of club soda—Carly sat back down. "Is it okay if I drink this? Will it bother you?"

"No. I wouldn't stock anything that bothered me. You probably noticed there wasn't any diet pop."

"Yes, I did." She smiled. "You're not going to pass as a modest Shreveport business owner if you keep calling it pop."

"Probably not." Eric realized he still held onto the coin. "I guess I should finish the story."

"If you want to. If it upsets you, please don't feel you have to. You can tell me some other time."

"Ah...yes. You'll have other opportunities for the pleasure of my company in Shreveport."

Since the blush that sent her to the bathroom hadn't really faded, the only affirmation Carly or her body offered to Eric was the nervous tapping of her fingers together.

He responded tentatively, "Perhaps I shouldn't finish the story. You may not want to hear it."

"No, really I do." The truth she couldn't put into words was that she wanted to know everything about Erik Ulfriksson, and Eric Northman was the best person to tell her.

"Even if it's filthy and provocative?"

Carly gulped. "Yes. I want to hear it."

Eric was next to her again. "Then I want to hear you say those words."

For the first time that night, Carly held her ground and stayed next to him. He'd given her space—about five inches—and she didn't feel crowded, and she wouldn't give in. He might have wanted to flirt, but she wanted to hear the story.

"I want to hear about the coin." Carly was resolute that she wasn't going to wind up in the king sized bed with a king sized thousand year old vampire.

Eric leaned against the back of the sofa and bent his left leg until his knee nearly touched her, looking at her as if she were a piece of inscrutable modern art.

"You won't humor me even a little?"

"No. I just want to hear your story, no matter what it's like." She said all this looking down at her hands, never meeting his eyes. She knew he couldn't impose his will on her, but that feeling of waves crashing into her was still overwhelming and vaguely sexual, so she avoided his eyes.

"Okay. I told you that Euthymius knew about medicine. He knew a great deal about how to prevent conception, or at least as much as anyone knew at the time. He taught Brigid that she could knead together pine resin, beeswax, and honey. Then she could adhere a coin and block the entrance to her womb."

"Gross."

"Carly, sex is messy, at least when it's done well." Even though Eric Northman was flirting, he also sounded completely sincere.

"I have no idea how it's done, and I'm not going to find out tonight, so can we please get back to your story?" Carly summoned the courage to turn and look directly at him, staring at him until he asked her a question.

"What did my parents think of Brigid?"

"Your mother thought she was a minx." Carly saw no change in his expression. "And that she slept around without getting pregnant."

"That was all true. She told me she wouldn't bear a son until she knew he could be a king." Eric turned back toward the center of the room and stretched his long legs out toward the artifact case. "She was a very sensible, strong woman."

"How long had you been sleeping with her before your parents died?"

"I'm not sure."

"You don't remember how many times you and she had...been together?" Carly took some comfort in the euphemism after Eric's graphic description of how Brigid kept low-caste babies away.

"We hadn't before that day. We'd flirted, and stole off together and kissed, but she knew what she wanted. The settlement was full of pretty boys, and she taught a few of the hall guards what she'd learned from Euthymius, but she was not a whore." Eric stood up for the character of this woman a thousand years dead admirably.

"What changed?"

"She knew that I was going to stay and learn more from my father about trading and about navigation." He closed his eyes tightly again, "And I think she must have overheard us talking about marriage."

"Why do you think so?" Carly tried to remember if Brigid had been close enough to hear what they'd been saying, but she couldn't assess whether Brigid would have been able to or not. All Carly knew from her dreaming was what Astrid and Ulfrik took in from their conversations, not how they were perceived by others.

"She asked me if I was ready for a concubine."

"What did you tell her."

Eric smiled broadly again, "You saw her. What should I have said?"

"If your father hadn't loved your mother so much, he would have said yes."

Eric's eyes fell. "I said yes. But I told her that I couldn't father a child on her until I was married. I needed an heir from wedlock before I got an heir from a concubine."

Carly knew enough about kinship systems to recognize that Eric hadn't exploited Brigid; he'd just been practical.

"So I gave her the gold Constantine. It was the most valuable coin I had, and she put it in, and we had sex. I can't remember where, but it was far from the hall." He closed his eyes again.

Even though she never touched anyone willingly, Carly reached for Eric's hand and held it without a word. She let down every barrier she'd kept up that night to block out the humming of his mind, and laid herself open to his thoughts. She didn't seek them out, but she didn't resist them. All that was there was humming, but the pitch was higher, more frantic, desperate, screaming.

The frequency and vibration rattling her mind felt the way she imagined the scream of the Banshee might feel—grief and sorrow embodied in the human voice.

Eric squeezed her hand sharply and let go. "Thank you." He continued his story.

"We'd fallen together, wherever it was, and laughed. She was relieved to belong to me. I'd planned to tell my parents immediately and make my claim known to the rest of the men. But then I heard the screams, and my father calling for me. I ran as fast as I could with my bare sword in my hand, but it was too late. So many people were dead already. My sister, my mother."

Carly couldn't let her question wait any longer. "Eric, you know that the last month and a half or so has changed the way that people think of stories...of creatures. We know vampires are real now—well, you've known for a thousand years—but the rest of us know now. They were werewolves that killed your family, weren't they? It wasn't just a hallucination your mother and father had, right?"

Eric reached over her and grabbed her drawings and spread them across the case again in their horrifying sequence. "This is what you saw in your dreams?"

"Yes."

"This is almost the only thing I have remembered for a thousand years. This," he tapped each of the sketches, "is what I saw."

"Tuva—one of the Swedes on the dig—called them ulfhednar. Wolf warriors."

Eric shook his heard. "These creatures were something different That's the name my father's people called themselves—they were like Berserkers. They took the wolf as their—I don't know exactly how to describe it—their symbol, but more. That's why he was named 'Wolf-king' or 'Powerful-Wolf.' But none I'd ever met were shape-changers."

Without warning, Eric embraced her, pinning her arms to her sides. "Eric, please," Carly whimpered. "Please don't do this to me."

He cradled her head in his palm and said, "No. No. I just wanted to hug you." He released her. "I'm so sorry I comfort you that night I found you. If I'd known you were dying both their deaths just to find their faces for me, I would have stayed and held you that night."

Carly leaned back against him, arms still at her side, unsure how to accept his embrace. Eric took her in his arms gently, and said, "I failed them when they died. I shouldn't have failed you when you were dying their deaths. Especially when it was my fault you were doing it."

And with that simple statement she grasped hold of his arms and began weeping inconsolably.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Carly cried for almost half an hour, but Eric never trembled. He held her firmly, but not restrictively, allowing her to weep and sob big heaving sobs until she had cried twenty-six years of grief and frustration and terror out of herself. When she finally collected herself, she said quietly, "Not what you bargained for, is it?"

"I think that I won't be able to bargain for what I want from you."

Carly disengaged from the embrace, self-conscious of the tears streaming down her face, the puffiness of her eyes, and the heat of her cheeks. "I've got to clean myself up. Excuse me."

She walked toward her bathroom without looking back at Eric Northman, but told him quietly, "There's something for you in the portfolio case in my bedroom. I think I should give it to you now."

"I wouldn't think your naked body would fit in a portfolio case." He chuckled, teasing her.

Still not looking at him, fearing she might give in to his advances, "You don't stop, do you?"

"A thousand years teaches a man persistence." It sounded like a bit of gnomic verse straight out of a Norse saga.

When she saw herself in the mirror, Carly couldn't imagine any man, even if he looked a thousand years old, could want her. She looked like a child after a tantrum, ruddy and wet with tears and mucus. She blew her nose on a tissue and then turned on the tap so she could wash her face with cold water. Only after she'd splashed herself a few times did she realize that the sink was still filled with broken glass. She thought to herself, _I have to clean this up. I don't want anyone to think there's been violence here._

Trash can ready, she started picking up the bigger shards of glass, planning to gather the small fragments into a wet tissue to dispose of them. After she threw a couple of pieces away, she grasped the heavy crystal base of the broken tumbler in her hand and looked up at the mirror absently to see if the swelling in her face had diminished at all.

Carly lost her balance when she saw Eric Northman in the mirror. His face was covered in blood that streamed from his eyes. It dripped slowly down his cheeks all the way to his jawline. In horror, she slammed her hand down on the counter to keep from falling down—driving the crystalline edge of the glass into her palm.

"Fucking hell!" she screamed. Carly lifted up her wounded hand and when the glass fell away from it, blood gushed out of the wound. "Goddamn it. Eric, can you..."

And he was at her side, grasping her wrist, baring his fangs, as he brought her hand to his mouth. Before she could protest or wrest her arm away, he was licking the wound. The first pass over it hurt like hell, like he was passing a gas flame over the wound to cauterize it. Subsequent passes seemed to numb the gash, but the anesthetic effects of his actions didn't make her feel better.

As he licked away the blood, Eric started to shiver slightly, and his eyelids fluttered as if her blood were a piece of moist chocolate cake and he was a teenaged-girl who'd just broken up with her boyfriend. By the fifth pass of his tongue, the blood was gone, and the edges of the wound met perfectly. Still holding tightly to her wrist, he looked at her, retracted his fangs, and placed her damaged palm over his bloody cheek. He held it there firmly for a moment, and then moved her hand over so that it could cup his other cheek. The affection embodied in the gesture, and the eroticism of his licking hadn't escaped her, and the muscles on the insides of her thighs relaxed, and she felt like she was going to buckle to the floor. Only his hold on her wrist kept her standing.

Her lips parted slightly and a little "oh" escaped her mouth.

Eric brushed the damp hair that stuck to her cheek away with his left hand and said, "It's a deep wound. You should swallow some of my blood to make sure it heals properly."

His fingers folded over hers and he moved behind her slightly, rotating her hand so that she could see it in the mirror and still see his face and the way that he leaned his chin on her head. "See, it's almost healed." The deep gash of her right hand, that had been a torrent of blood just moments before, was now just an achy red line. He dropped her hand and rested his broad palms over her shoulders. "There's still enough on my face. I don't even have to open a wound."

Carly turned to face him, aware suddenly that he was against her, almost pinning her to the vanity. Hours later, and she found herself in the same position she'd been so terrified in before. But this time, she knew he didn't have any desire to hurt her. He was offering his essence, what made him a vampire, to her freely to heal her, just as he did on the dig, although she hadn't known it.

"What will happen to me if I do?"

"You won't become a vampire, if that's what you mean. But it shouldn't be any different than before." His body stiffened, "I will tell you I had expected a slightly different effect than it had."

"What had you expected?"

"That you'd want me. That you'd dream of me."

A wave hit her, but not the wave of glamouring. A hot wave emanated from him and encircled her, and she knew that she did want him, but didn't know how to have him. Maybe if she dreamed of him, she'd learn.

"What do you want me to do?"

Eric smiled sweetly, "You should kiss my cheeks and lick the blood off."

The suggestion suddenly repulsed her rather than excited her. All the desire and excitement she'd felt moments before evaporated, and she winced.

He seemed clearly insulted and drew back from her a few inches. "Is the idea of kissing me so repulsive?"

"No, god no." Carly looked down, but then realized how close their bodies were. She moved toward the toilet room, hoping to get closer to the door back into her bedroom. "No, it's just, the idea of taking blood into my mouth is just...too much. I'll just be careful with my hand."

"How does it feel?" Eric seemed willing to relent and let her go without her having to taste his blood.

"It's okay. It aches a little."

"So you're going to drive a truck for seven or eight hours and then move house with an aching hand?" A thousand years had also made him infinitely reasonable and thoroughly pragmatic.

"Can I do it without making you into a blood lollipop?"

He laughed at her. "Why don't you pretend I'm a little boy, and I have something on my face?"

_A naughty little boy._

Giving him a nursemaid's bath seemed like a fair compromise to Carly. She licked her finger, reached up to his face, which he'd inclined toward her so she wouldn't have to stretch uncomfortably, and wiped blood from his face. She licked it off. She repeated the procedure a couple of times until his face was nearly clean. It wasn't until she'd finished that she realized that his blood wasn't repulsive. Like hers, his blood tasted metallic, but it had a secondary flavor that she started to luxuriate in, after the first or second lick. It tasted the way the fat on a well-aged steak tasted. Dense, sweet, taboo.

"You have a little at the corner of your mouth," he leaned in quickly and licked it off of her, and she froze. He brushed his nose against hers playfully and looked into her eyes, "Was that so bad?"

"No."

Their eyes locked for a few moments more, while Eric clearly assessed how much more he could push her before she fell apart.

He disengaged fully and moved to get some toilet tissue. "Let me clean this up. Go sit down."

As she walked through her bedroom, she saw what had made Eric Northman cry. The portrait she'd painted of his family leaned against the wall with one drop of blood that dripped down the swaddling of his baby sister.

Carly staggered back into the living room and suddenly realized how tired she was. They'd talked for another three hours. She tried to calculate how long it had been since she'd slept, but she couldn't.

Eric walked out of her room with the painting and moved back into his own. He came back out in to the living room empty-handed and said, "You should sleep. You're exhausted."

"Yes, I guess I should." Carly had no more energy to talk or flirt, or resist his advances, which he seemed willing to stop.

Eric sat next to her and patted her hand. "Thank you."

"For what."

"Letting me see my family. It's been a long time."

Before she crawled into bed, Carly called the front desk to ask for a noon wake-up call. The representative at the front desk asked, "Which bedroom, please?"

"I'm sorry. What do you mean?"

There was silence from the other end of the line.

"I'm in the room that has a toilet, if that's what you need to know."

"Thank you, ma'am. That's one way to describe it, I guess."

"How should I have described it?" Carly couldn't seem to navigate her interactions with hotel staff at this hotel successfully and it reminded her of how socially awkward she was. If she hadn't been so dead tired, she would have been really pissed off.

"The phone should say 'line 1' or 'line 2.'"

"Oh. Line 2, please."

"Thank you, ma'am. You'll have a noon wake up call, and you'll find your breakfast in the light lock soon after."

Grateful to learn that's what the hotel called the space between the two doors, Carly fell into a deep, unfortunately dreamless, sleep.

Nearly eight hours later, Carly awoke to the sound of her wake-up call feeling rested, but rested in the way a person is after sleeping off a marathon. She hadn't changed out of her sundress into sleep clothes, so she was able to move around the suite without any problem.

The breakfast, as promised, was in the the light lock on a white linen covered trolley that rolled into the room effortlessly. A pre-printed note said, "Please return to the light-lock and call the front desk when you have completed your meal."

The trolley was covered in a strange assortment of food, every plate insulated to preserve the correct temperature for the dish included. She could choose between steaming hot oatmeal, ice cold gravlox with mustard sauce and rye bread, a vegetable frittata, and a half melon. It was enough food for four people—the coffee pot was certainly large enough to accommodate a whole family. Even though she'd promised herself only to take a bite or two of each, she found herself ravenous and ate nearly half of everything. Satiated, and feeling vaguely gluttonous, Carly returned the cart to the light lock, and showered. If nothing else, the huge meal would keep her full till gumbo.

Groomed, packed, and ready to go, Carly took one more look around the luxurious suite, trying to recall all the emotions that had swept over her just a few hours before. Finally, she looked toward Eric's closed bedroom door and wondered how a vampire slept and whether he dreamed. Even though she knew she'd see him again soon enough—she had a contact number for him in Shreveport and she planned to call him as soon as she arrived—she longed for his presence. Emotionally exhausted, Carly didn't think that she could go through another night like the last any time soon, but she wanted to speak to him, to say goodbye.

But looking at the closed door, Carly was suddenly reminded of the story of Cupid and Psyche. If she looked at Eric while he slept, what kind of monster would she see?

One of her college professors, a quirky classicist who celebrated the professional immunity tenure granted by running around town in a zebra-striped thong, repeated a wonderful adage with the least provocation as often as he could: "There are few dangers to education. The worst, however, is going through life deaf to the resonances of person, place, or circumstance, deaf to the whispers of art, folklore, myth, and literature. There is nothing worse than believing yourself the first person to ever encounter the world."

Having learned from Psyche's lesson, Carly left the suite and returned to the lobby to return her key card.

"Thank you, Ms. Michael. Mr. Northman left you a message."

The hotel reception clerk retrieved a sealed envelope. Inside, Carly found a folded piece of hotel stationary that encased a business card. A handwritten note read,

_What do you think of my new calling card design? -E_

_P. S. My private cellphone is 318/5xx-xxxx._

The calling card read:

Eric Northman

Proprietor, _Fangtasia_

He'd drawn a beautiful rendering of his Mjolnir with its complex interlace design. Below it were runes.

"Do you have a computer I could use really fast?"

"Certainly. You can use the boarding-pass terminal next to the concierge desk."

Carly went into Google and typed "Maes Howe Runes." After they'd found the pendant in Ulfrik's hand, and Dr. Crump had confirmed Tuva's interpretation of it, she'd asked the team members to familiarize themselves with the Viking inscriptions inside that Neolithic tomb so that they would have a standard for comparison if they'd found any more writing.

The webpage found, Carly scrolled down until she got to the last, long inscription that she vaguely remembered. She compared the characters on Eric's card that didn't say "Erik" and knew that her guess was right. It read "Erik is a viking."

The rest of her day passed uneventfully. When the cab got her to the U-Haul, Carly found her van packed and ready to go. Although she got on the road a little later than she'd expected to, she would still get into Shreveport before 10pm that night. With the exception of her off-the-interstate detour for the best gumbo in Louisiana, all her route was on the interstate, so she could drive as fast as the truck's governor would let her without having to make too many turns. Just to keep her on track, the AAA rep had divided her trip into four nearly equal segments so that Carly could get out of the truck and walk around to stretch her legs. The AAA rep had regaled her with un-solicited tales of terror about the threats of deep vein thrombosis, an affliction that had disfigured or enfeebled a startling number of her clients. She apparently wanted to take better care of Carly than she had these prior travelers.

Carly stopped for one of these stretch breaks at a dingy truck stop on I-55, just south of Grenada, Mississippi. While she stood in line to buy a bottle of water, Carly learned, to her simultaneous relief and disgust, that she _didn't look anything like a truck stop hooker_ from the mind of the big-rig operator in line behind her. As she rung up Carly's purchase, the clerk thought that _a nice girl like better drive around with a shotgun and a pit bull, because it just ain't safe for a white girl to go through Mississippi alone_.

Grateful that her virtue was clear to all observers, but happy in the knowledge that she didn't share the middle-aged white clerk's racism, Carly continued to Jackson in good time. The late afternoon sun grew harder to bear as she drove to and through Jackson, and she couldn't get any relief from the U-Haul's sun shades. By the time she got to the I-20 exit that would take her to Bon Temps, the cheerful-sounding Louisiana gumbo heaven, she had a blazing headache and was fighting off complete exhaustion. She wasn't looking forward to sitting in a crowded restaurant will all sorts of thoughts buzzing around her, but she was hungry and hopeful.

So when she pulled into Merlotte's Bar and Grill, she said to herself, "I am ready to get me some gumbo."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

After double-checking the locks on her moving truck, Carly breathed deeply to try to clear herself of any attachment the streams of thoughts that washed over her from inside the bar. It was tough. It had always been difficult for her to be around large numbers of drunk and drinking people, whose natural inhibitions, even inside their minds, were diminished. In a small party, she could usually remain detached, or focus solely on their external performances. One of Dr. Crump's two undergraduate students on the dig would get rip-roaring drunk at the end of particularly productive days and start reciting poetry backwards, or re-enacting battles from the English Civil War all by himself. She enjoyed watching the show so much-everyone around her was so gleeful, so their thoughts were in perfect unison with her own.

But once Carly found herself around more than a dozen people, the symmetry between herself and others disappeared, leaving only alienation, only the feeling of being trapped at the back of an electronics store in front of a television display where every TV was on a different channel, each one blasting a sound-track at exactly the same volume as every other set. And if she tried to decode any group of signals, to home in on one particular rivulet of thoughts and emotions, her anxiety debilitated her. Carly's experience in places where people were sober-in schools, or labs, or museums-was always easier, because thoughts were more consistently on a group of topics, so it was easier for her to remain detached, to follow her breath alone, and go through her activities as if she were meditating.

When Carly thought about her education, and her life, she was so grateful to her mother for so many things, both material and intangible. Edna's social position insulated Carly from unpleasant situations and allowed her to encounter things like crowds, or family gatherings, gradually. And it seemed always, as far back as Carly could remember, that her mother knew what was happening to her, and knew that Carly was telling the truth. Edna never dismissed her knowledge of what other people were thinking, never made her feel guilty for revealing an inconvenient truth, even something that she would have preferred to hide from Carly, like the way her father died and what happened after his death.

Edna had kept Carly home for the early part of her schooling, hiring a tutor who slept under an aluminum pyramid frame, read tarot cards, and gazed into crystals. Carly knew that a few of the other mothers in Edna's "set"-a set determined by her birth, not her affinity for these women—were horrified that she'd hired a "dirty hippy" to help her daughter learn to read, write, and do elementary mathematics. Edna moved away from Manhattan onto a comparatively isolated New Jersey farm where Carly could raise chickens and ducks and near-swarms of dogs and cats. In a move that betrayed an astonishing wisdom and bottomless empathy, Edna became a major donor for an autism treatment center that worked with non- or low-verbal children the same age as Carly. The psychologists, social workers, and parents admired Carly's "intuition" for the children with autism and the way that they played and laughed together. Many of these kids—now young adults like herself—were still her closest friends, and they never seemed to mind that Carly knew what they were thinking about and never wanted an explanation of how she did it.

These early experiences all prepared Carly for academic and professional success, and she was always grateful for them. In most circumstances, she'd been happy and autonomous, except for her one experience in boarding school. A few of the other young women, who were all overmedicated—they were, after all, the adolescents of the Prozac generation—talked Carly into taking some of their anti-anxiety drugs to make sleeping easier, since their noisy brains kept Carly awake. The results had been disastrous. She'd needed a week alone in the barn to recover from it—from the helplessness the tranquilizers created, from the chest crushing panic from feeling everything her peers' did and had. Carly had been trapped in a spinning door of their teen angst and genuine trauma for twenty-four hours until she told her roommate she couldn't bear it any more. She was going to drown herself in the lake and make it all stop. The girl held her down and screamed for help.

Acknowledging the privileges her mother's circumstances had offered her, she wondered what life would have been like in a place like Bon Temps. How would someone like her have done in a town pinned down by the Bible Belt, smothered in poverty and joblessness? What kinds of opportunities would they have had? Could they have even managed to work, even as a waitress in a place like this bar?

Letting the last of her own thoughts slide away with the warm August breeze, Carly walked into the bar. The bartender, a tousle-haired man in a plaid work shirt and blue jeans, was replacing emptied liquor bottles, and three waitresses circulated busily around the restaurant. Carly was impressed that, despite its dark exterior, the restaurant was very clean and bright, much more like a family restaurant than a bar-fly bar. There were folks in the mood to party in one corner by the pool table, but she paid no attention as their thoughts and emotions passed through her mind. Almost all the tables and booths were full—the only empty table in the place was a six-seat round table, so she went straight to a bar stool she knew would be in the barman's peripheral vision and sat down.

The AAA rep had told her that she should only order the gumbo if the "regular cook whose name sounds like a general's" was cooking. Otherwise, Carly should get a hamburger. The bartender turned, and said "Hi, there. What can I get ya?"

Carly smiled and made the effort to look in his eyes instead of being self-protective, but potentially rude. He was scruffy, but handsome, and different. It was as if he had two minds, not one. The recognition flustered her: "Um...Sure...I'm here for dinner."

He was eager to accommodate. "Need a menu? It's pretty typical bar-fare, but Lafayette can make you just about anything."

_Thank goodness_. "That's good to hear. I was sent here so I could get a bowl of his gumbo. Does he have it tonight?"

Just as she finished speaking, a flamboyant, but strongly-built, man sauntered over to the end of the bar.

"Sam, who this New York beauty that wants a bowl of La-la's gumbo?" Carly only had time to smile, before he continued the "Lafayette Floor-show." He put his hand on his hip and straightened, "You scouting for Top Chef," then he bent over the bar, threw his head back, and fluttered his false eye-lashes, "or my baby Tyra's Next Top Model?"

Lafayette's sheer guts in putting on such a performance in front of the rednecks playing pool, by itself, was more courageous than anything she'd seen recently. She suspected that his courage came from the knowledge that, if necessary, he could kick every single one's ass. But, more than anything, Lafayette had properly identified her as a New York girl and that made her day. _Every New York girl loves a great drag queen, even in trousers._ Her Uncle Benjamin took Carly as his "date" to the GLAAD gala every year if he could, and it was the only social event she actually looked forward to. She knew when a drag queen said you looked good, you really did. And Carly loved to play their verbal games.

"Oh, honey, if I could, I'd get Tyra right down here before someone else claimed you for himself!"

Lafayette grinned and then said, "Where you driving in from, baby?"

"From Memphis to Shreveport."

"Oh, I see." He tapped Sam on the chest meaningfully. "My sweet thing, Phyllis, send you down for my gumbo?"

"She work at triple-A in Memphis?" Carly asked.

"Yes, she does." Lafayette looked flirtatiously over his shoulder at Sam and reached down for a glass. "I told you there big returns in telling a sweet old lady she look good." Lafayette sashayed over to the ice machine and filled his glass. "You'll love my gumbo, baby-cakes. You'll see."

"Oh, I'm sure, Lafayette." Carly knew the show wasn't quite over; he was still waiting for her to pitch him the right question so he could make an exit. "You'll have to tell me your secret ingredient before I head out to Shreveport, Lafayette. I might not be able to come back to have it again."

Lafayette gave her his best runway turn, "You will so, honey. 'Cause La-la put the 'ass' in sassafras!" He winked, and headed back to the kitchen.

Carly clapped her hands like a little girl at the circus. "Can you put him in a to-go box, so I can take him with me?"

"Don't make promises you can't keep." Sam smiled. "I don't think I can. If he's drawing pretty girls into town, I can't afford to lose him."

She blushed a little, startled to be flirting with a straight man for the second time in twenty-four hours.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Sam offered.

"Sweet tea, please." Carly tried to keep relaxed and detached, but Sam's double mind kept drawing her attention. On one hand, he was thinking, in fragments, about deliveries from vendors, about whether Lafayette would be safe after closing time, and strangely, how much Carly reminded him of another woman—someone named Sookie. Carly could only remember encountering that name once, in either an interview or a memoir by Truman Capote.

On the other hand, he was thinking about the woods, about running in moonlight, and tasting the rain. He wasn't thinking, though, in the same way. It was non-linear, non-linguistic, a combination of his senses. It reminded her, a little bit, about the feelings she'd get around her dogs sometimes.

_Oh, no._

The conclusion she reached, that this man in front of her might be something other than just a man, shook her out of her quasi-meditative state and her headache exploded. She didn't just have eye-strain from driving any more. Now, she had a fiery spike transecting her skull from ear to ear. The force of all the minds, so many on the continuum of drunkenness, sickened her.

"Umm...Sam...where's your bathroom?"

"You okay, cher?"

"Just a headache." Carly squinted in pain from the volume and vibration in her head.

"Round there and then back," he pointed.

Carly nearly ran to the bathroom, bombarded every step by painful shots through her consciousness- psychic screams, invectives, curses, and the howling pain that can only result from a lifetime of meaningless small-town slights and insults.

Once in the toilet stall, Carly vomited, heaving up the last remains of her breakfast. She caught her breath, wiped her face, and rested her head against the cool tiled wall. Being sick distracted her long enough that she was able to disengage from the maelstrom around her. Although nervous that she couldn't manage the anticipated gumbo, she gathered herself up and went back to the bar.

Carly's gumbo and tea were waiting for her back at her seat; the gumbo smelled delicious, better than any she'd had, but she wasn't quite ready. She sipped at her tea instead.

Sam walked back to her and asked "Anything else you need? Can I get you some aspirin or something?"

He was so kind to her; she felt guilty for being afraid of him. _Maybe he's just a really dedicated runner._

"No, I'm good." Carly still wasn't thinking entirely clearly. "So, do you always run at night?"

She didn't realize what she'd done until Sam's expression changed, and he shifted his weight uncomfortably. _Shit, she is like Sookie_.

Carly closed her eyes tightly and thought about the ways that she could undo the damage she'd done in this little nowhere town. She hadn't talked to anyone in the bathroom, and Sam probably had been able to see her the whole way forth and back to the bathroom.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." Carly thought carefully, and decided that she needed to do something other than apologize. "I'm not feeling very well."

"That's okay. What's your name, anyway? I like to know who's poking around in there." Sam smiled faintly and tapped his temple.

"Carly Michael. It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too." He looked over his shoulder and asked, "Do you know Sookie Stackhouse?"

"I gather there's a resemblance."

His smile broadened, "You're a little taller."

"I'd like to meet her, but I think it would probably screw up your dinner service if you introduced us."

A perky blond waitress set her tray two-thirds of the way on the bar, "There somebody you want me to meet, Sam?"

It was too good an opportunity to miss. Carly focused her mind on a single word: _Me._

Sookie Stackhouse knocked the tray to the floor and gaped at Carly. "Did you really...?"

Carly smiled and put her forefinger to her lips. _Yes. Can you speak to me this way?_

_Yes. I think so. Do you hear me?_

Carly gave her a thumbs-up and thought, _Yes, I can. Nice to meet you, Sookie Stackhouse, my name's Carly Michael. I guess we have something in common._

Sookie practically leapt over the bar and embraced her. _You don't know what this means to me..._

_ I think I do..._

_Of course..._

_ People are staring, Sookie. We better come up with an explanation._

_You're my cousin. People will believe that._

_ Bon Temps is tiny._

_Other side of the blanket—that's what they call bastards._

_ Thanks a lot. You haven't even gotten to know me..._

_No, no. I mean..._

_ Just kidding. I've never gotten to joke telepathically._

Sookie let go of Carly just as suddenly as she'd hugged her and started laughing.

Carly laid the groundwork for whatever explanation Sookie would come up with about their being cousins. "It's so nice to finally meet you, Sookie. I should have called first, but I wound up driving through earlier than I expected." _I'm moving from Memphis to Shreveport._

"Thanks so much for stopping anyway. It's such a great surprise to see you after all our letters!" _I have so many questions for you._

_Me too, Sookie, but it might be really hard for me right now. _An image of Eric popped into her head without warning.

Sookie clearly liked to tease people when she got an opening, _Who's Eric? He seems like something else._

_Vampire, viking. He's everything else. Everything right now. God, I'm sorry, Sookie. I can't focus. _Carly's eyes teared up, so she closed them and breathed deeply.

"It's okay, Carly. I don't mind. Shreveport's just down the road."

"Yes, it is. It will be nice to get to know you." Carly looked toward Sam to see if their make-believe family reunion was interfering with Sookie's job. Sam was trying to follow what was going on.

_God in heaven help me-two of them. God must be a man-hater to toss two sexy telepaths into my bar._

Sookie turned suddenly to look directly at Sam with a scandalized look on her face.

"Don't worry, Sam," Carly tried to assuage his anxiety at finding two telepathic women attractive. "Do you have a piece of paper or two?"

_Natives are getting restless, Carly. I gotta get back to my tables._

_ You hear them now, Sookie?_

_Yeah, they're all real interested in the two of us. You were right, they're all trying to figure out who you are. Can't you hear them?_

Carly scanned the room and could hear them individually if she attached to their thoughts and held onto them..._Crazy Sookie got a friend... hot as she is, like one of them movies...Maybe Jason can sneak in a camera if they have a sleepover...Where the hell is my beer?_

_ You can't shut them out?_

_Not really well. Mostly, but not completely._

_ I can teach you a few ways._

_I'd like that a lot. _

_ It will be good for me too. It'll be nice to have a friend in Louisiana._

_A human one, right?_

_ Funny, Sookie. _Carly grinned at this woman only a couple years younger than herself, but so different in life experiences, this gift. Someone else like her. _I'm going to ask you for the phone number here at Merlotte's. Give me your home address and number instead._

"Sookie, could you give me the number here? Then I can call and warn you if I'm driving through."

"Sure, Carly. Do you have your new address and number?"

_Sookie, you catch on quick, don't you. _"Address, no, but I can give you my work number."

_What kind of work do you do?_

_ Can we try something?_

_Sure._

Carly focused as carefully as she could on the procedural elements of what she did, the way she did for school tours-putting the flesh markers on the skull casts, building the faces back up until they looked human again. She cordoned off the rest of her experience, obscuring her dreams from Sookie's view.

_So cool! Like a detective novel. I love mysteries so much. I read a lot._

Carly saw Sookie's favorite library shelves, and the books that she and her grandmother swapped with each other. "When is your next day off?"

"I'm off on Monday."

Carly didn't want to mess up this opportunity to make a friend who had similar abilities.

"Don't worry, Carly. I'm not going anywhere. Take your time to get settled in." Sookie gave her another quick but enthusiastic hug, and ran off to tend to her impatient and curious customers.

Carly knew she had a silly, wide smile on her face, but she didn't care.

"You want Lafayette to get you a hot bowl?"

"No, I'm good." Carly stirred the deep brown gumbo and mixed in the rice at the bottom—just smelling it transported her to the back streets of New Orleans and closely packed front porches of the old Creole district. In her first bite, she tasted the deep earthiness of the roux and the sassafras and caught a sweet hint of crayfish. The rest of the meal was like a guided tour through three hundred years of Louisiana history.

She never even stopped for a sip of tea, and licked the last bit of gravy off the edge of the bowl with her finger. She heard, "Wow."

Carly started and looked up. Sam was looking at her admiringly. "Did you say that out loud, Sam?"

"Yes, ma'am. Lafayette's gumbo usually requires a permit before you can eat it that fast." Sam crossed his arms and chuckled. "I didn't even see you breathe."

The heat was beginning to get to her finally, and she sucked down a few gulps of tea. "Could I get some more tea?"

"Sure thing."

Carly blocked herself off again from Sookie and asked Sam: "Could we play a word association game, Sam?"

"That's not something you hear every day." He set down the tea. "You want to ask me a question, privately?"

She nodded.

"Well, I'm up for anything once." Carly couldn't get over these flirty Southern men.

She started: "Moonlight."

"Cool."

Not the answer she expected. "Howling."

"Wolf."

She realized that had been a stupid association to make. "Happiness."

"Dog."

"Love."

"Puppy."

"Freedom."

"Falcon."

_Could he...?_ But before she thought further she silenced her mind and tried a different tack.

"Death."

"Wolves."

"Destruction."

"Wolves."

"Joy."

"A dog by a warm fire." He smiled. "You get what you were looking for?"

"I think so." Carly pulled out thirty dollars to settle up her bill. "Keep the change for the tip jar."

"That's as much tip as bill. You don't have to do that." Sam tried to hand her back the ten, but she raised her hand in protest.

"Tips are best when they're what you want to give. It's not a lot, but it'll buy them all a drink on me."

"All righty, then."

Carly used the bathroom again and stopped by the service window in the kitchen to say goodbye to Lafayette. "Lafayette, you are a sorcerer. Your gumbo has transformed me, and I am forever in your thrall." She bowed her head, hand over her heart.

"Damn, girl. You know how to make a man feel good. You wanna give lessons to these motherfuckers?"

Carly laughed, "Not particularly. I'll be seeing you soon now, Lafayette. Take care of yourself."

"You know I do!"

_Bye, Sookie_.

Sookie turned around and smiled. _You want to meet my brother? His name is Jason. He's the blond one over by the pool table._

Carly looked over to him. He was quite handsome. Not tall, but athletic, and thinking altogether too loudly about the two women watching his game. Carly met Sookie's eye again. _Not tonight, Sookie..._

_Is he being a horn-dog again? _

Carly didn't want to engage this conversation, even if it was just the two of them, mind to mind, so she waved happily, "Nice to finally meet you face-to-face, Sookie! Talk to you soon." _Let me know what you tell them all. I'm happy with almost any story, but it has to involve some relative they've never met, preferably who's dead. I'll tell you more about me later._

"Sure, Carly! Maybe this weekend?"

"That would be perfect."

Carly Michael walked out of Merlotte's Bar and Grill in Bon Temps, Louisiana, feeling like she'd just met family she never knew she had.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

If you'd asked her, Carly wouldn't have been able to tell you anything about the drive to Shreveport. She didn't even recognize the highway when she drove it again. The elation of meeting someone else like her, of speaking to another human being without moving her lips or vocal cords, of projecting the images and sensations that made up her life into another person's mind, inspired a euphoria that stayed with her until she got into her hotel room and lay on the bed.

_Not alone_. _I'm not alone. _The words just kept playing over and over in her mind. She was tempted to call Sookie right away, but she'd likely not be home. She'd still be working.

_Why didn't I give her my cellphone number?_ Carly kicked herself. She hadn't used it since she'd been back in the country. She hadn't even checked to see if it was charged. It was in her "USA tote" that she kept in her duffel bag. With horror, Carly realized she hadn't even called her mom to tell her she was home.

"She's gonna kill me." Carly rummaged around, pulled the cellphone out of her bag, and called her mother. Once Carly had settled in Memphis for a one-year research post-doc, Edna moved back to her ancestral New York townhouse, which she'd rented to a gallery owner friend for most of the time they'd lived in New Jersey. He kept two guest rooms ready for Carly and her mom (after Uncle Benjamin died), so they could come into the city whenever they wanted. Even though it had been the site of her husband's death, Edna remained attached to the house and its furnishings. She didn't make any money from his rent—it didn't even cover the taxes—but she knew that someone who appreciated the house and its history lived there. The fact that his somewhat exotic ways annoyed her neighbors also gave her satisfaction. Edna accepted the rules established by her class and appeared to maintain them, but loved to watch the other members of her "set" chafe—she got that from her mother's side of the family.

"My prodigal daughter calls," Edna answered.

"Hi, mom. I'm really sorry I didn't call when I landed in New York. I should have let you know I was back."

"I still don't understand why you couldn't have stayed with me a couple of days." Edna's feelings were clearly hurt.

Carly hadn't told her mother about the change in her travel plans. Edna hated private planes and always avoided them. She thought small plane crashes were divine retribution for gluttonous displays of wealth, and she would have gone through the roof if she'd known Carly was traveling on one. "I had to go on a different flight. The landowner wanted the reproductions of the artifacts right away."

"And no one else could take them to him?" Edna didn't hide her irritation with her daughter, whom she reminded was overly probably generous with her time to make up for her social awkwardness.

"Mom, I was the only American on the dig, and he lives in Louisiana." Carly hadn't shared her initial suspicions that the property owner was a vampire with her mom. And now that those suspicions were confirmed and she'd spent a very emotional night in his company, she didn't know how to open the conversation. They'd exchanged weekly letters throughout the summer, but they'd never corresponded about the introduction of vampires to human society.

"Well, you better find me a nice hotel room in Shreveport, Carly. That's all I have to say."

"I will, mom, but you could also stay with me. I think there should be plenty of room in the apartment, and I can sleep on an air-mattress."

"Carly," Edna sighed. "Staying in a hotel, and letting someone else make my bed, is much better than displacing you and putting you on the floor."

"Mom, I've been sleeping in a trailer all summer on a cot or a bunk. An air-mattress is luxury."

"It's unconscionable." Even though she scorned most upper-class affectations, and made fun of acquaintances who would only stay in five star hotels, or who spent $100K dollars on a granite counter-top, she couldn't bear the idea of anything that approximated "camping."

"It's fine, mom."

"Hotel, Carly."

"Okay, I'll ask around, mom. You could also ask your travel agent."

"He's never been to Shreveport. I already asked him." Edna also couldn't stay in a hotel unless she had a first-person testimonial that everything was clean enough and the staff was courteous enough, so Carly or cousins had to scout things out for her first. "When do you think you'll be ready for me, dear?"

"Some grad students are coming to unpack with me tomorrow. The place has book-shelves and a built-in desk, but I have to go buy a bed and a sofa."

"Well, if you don't have enough money to get something satisfactory, use the credit card. I owe you a house-warming present."

"Thanks, mom."

Edna yawned, "I'm sorry, Carly, I'm tired."

"It's only nine o'clock, mom. Why are you so sleepy?" Carly was concerned.

"I spent all day and most of the evening at Abdullah's gallery to help him with the invitation list for an opening he's got next month." Even though Edna moved back to New York, she'd subdivided a portion of the townhouse so that Abdullah could stay there.

"Can't get enough of him, mom?" Carly loved to tease her mom about the handsome Syrian, even though there didn't seem to be anything between them other than a deep, mutually supportive friendship.

"As funny as always."

"I try, mom. You know my winning personality shines best while I'm on the phone."

"Yes, I know very well," Edna had always encouraged Carly get to know people over the phone so that they'd be more tolerant of her quirks. "Back on topic, Carly. This opening is his first vampire show, and he's struggled with the guest list."

Carly thought she might have an opening. "How are you any help? Nothing personal, mom, but do you even know any vampires?"

"If you'd asked me that two months ago, I would have said, 'Of course, not,' but not now."

"What's the story, mom?"

"Do you remember Jean-Jacques Lévesque?"

Carly tried to remember, but her mother had collected more random French connections than she could keep track of. "No, mom, sorry."

"I'm not even certain you met him. But I've known him about ten years—I sold him one of your father's first editions."

"Oh, yes, I remember him. But, mom, if you recall, I wasn't in the best shape right then."

Edna realized she'd miscounted. "I'm sorry, dear. I forgot you'd just gotten back from that school." She refused to name it, because she blamed almost everyone for how far-gone Carly had become and how difficult it had been for her to recover. "I'd never thought twice about his always wanting to meet at night, or not eating, or not aging. I thought he was just European."

"Mom, that's nearly the funniest thing I've heard in weeks."

"In any case," Edna sounded slightly exasperated, "he wrote me the day after what he calls 'The Great Revelation' and asked if I'd like to attend a party at his home, which I'd never seen. He invited a number of his friends, business associates, and told us all that he was a vampire, and apologized for having kept the information from us. It was a marvelous party—slightly disquieting to see him drinking that blood substitute—but just marvelous."

Carly thought she could introduce Eric Northman into the conversation, but her mother was on a roll.

"In any case, because Jean-Jacques is an acquaintance, Abdullah asked me to approach the gentleman about area vampires who might want to attend the opening."

"What's the show?"

"You know that Abdullah's been specializing in art with occult themes for some time, now."

"No, mom. I didn't." Carly bet the neighbors were ecstatic at Abdullah's most recent cocktail party guests.

"Well, I think I mentioned it. In any case, he's put together an exhibition of artists who explore the theme of vampirism with a special emphasis on actual vampire artists who've approached him to market their art." Edna sounded as enthusiastic as a high school cheerleader organizing the prom. "It's really going to capture the zeitgeist, this show. Abdullah is so excited."

"I'm sure, mom. You sound excited." Carly was happy to hear her mother was enjoying herself so much.

"So the artists, the vampires that is, had recommended other vampires to Abdullah, but he was concerned that not all of them would be, well, reputable. You know how important the guest list is to an opening."

Abdullah talked of nothing but the guest list for a whole month or two before an opening. He always said, "It's like alchemy or chemistry-volatile, dangerous, but combine the right materials, cook them at the right temperatures, with the right pressure, the miraculous happens!" It was no wonder he'd decided to market occultist art.

"Jean-Jacques vetted the list last night and wrote elaborate—really thoughtful—extensive descriptions of all these people and who they knew among well, regular, people, and who among them nursed grudges against each other. There really aren't that many of them, Carly, so our list includes the whole Boston to Washington corridor as well as the Great Lakes and Chicago. Jean-Jacques even recommended one man from Shreveport—said he invested extensively in real estate and would be an excellent contact. Perhaps you should meet him. He sounds so intriguing. His name is-"

"Eric Northman." Carly was beginning to calculate odds. What were the chances of her meeting another telepath and her mother mentioning Eric Northman in the same night? _Where's the lightning?_

"Yes, how did you know?" Edna sounded so impressed that Carly had a social connection all her own.

"He owns the property in Sweden. He's our landowner." Carly didn't know if she could keep talking about him yet, so she kept the description short.

"Well, darling, all is forgiven! Jean-Jacques said he was one of the few truly admirable vampires he knew in the United States. What do you think of this Eric Northman?"

_What do I think of Eric Northman? I think he's beautiful, accustomed to getting his own way, powerful, terrifying, private, cagey. _"He was very supportive of the dig and really wanted to know about how we went about the excavation."

Edna was quiet. "Oh, Carly. That's not what I meant."

"I don't know, mom."

"Carly, please. Tell me what you think of the man."

"I think if you invite him no one will look at the art. They'll all just be looking at him."

Edna laughed. "That's almost exactly what Jean-Jacques said! That's why we're going to send him an invitation for a private viewing the night before the opening."

"That's really something, mom. Do you think that's a good idea, since you don't know him?"

"No. Now I think it's an even better idea. Jean-Jacques gave me his phone number as well as his address. I'll just call and introduce myself as your mother." Carly could tell Edna was smiling on the other side of the line.

"My god, mom. What are you trying to do? Are you trying to make things hard for me here?" Carly didn't know how to deal with this. Her mom had never given her any pressure to date, or to meet people she didn't want to me.

"No, darling." Edna paused. "I'm trying to get you to tell me exactly where you were last night."

Silence on both sides of the line was so profound, Carly swore she could hear the sound of the light racing back and forth as it carried the signal.

"What?"

"You know that I hate, absolutely hate, second-hand information."

_What the hell was going on? What on earth was she talking about? Second-hand from whom?_

"Mom, I really don't understand. I told you where I was. I was giving the artifacts to Eric Northman."

"Eric Northman lives in Shreveport, dear. You were in Memphis. I learned from Jean-Jacques's letter that Mr. Northman is one of the primary investors in that lovely hotel we stayed in, in Memphis."

"Yes." Carly finally figured out where all this was going. "Yes, I'm sorry. Yes, I was—he let me—I stayed in the suite he has there."

"I know, darling."

"How on earth do you know that was staying there?"

"Jean-Jacques left him a message there. I guess Northman was en route when Jean-Jacques tried to reach him in Shreveport to ask if he'd be interested in the show. Jean-Jacques didn't want us to waste our time, of course. Northman returned his call not long after he'd gotten there and enthusiastically accepted the offer. Jean-Jacques reported—his letters are truly epistolary masterpieces—that the news of our connection absolutely transported Northman. So much so, he exclaimed, 'What a wonderful surprise' in Swedish over the phone!"

Carly was horrified at herself and what she'd assumed Northman had being doing when he'd retreated from her. The whole time that she thought he was in his room "dealing with his distraction" he was talking to his mother's friend! _I've got some fucking issues. I've got to deal with this. Shit._

"Okay."

"He didn't tell you he made the call?"

"No. The artifacts had him...emotional. He was distracted."

"He certainly was. He told Jean-Jacques he would be there, and you would be his 'plus one.' So what happened?"

"That was pretty early in the night, mom. Um. Nothing happened. We just talked for a while." Carly couldn't talk to her mom about how he'd licked her wounded hand, or the corner of her mouth, or tried to glamour her into his bed. "He wanted to know about the dreams I'd had during the dig."

"Why?"

"Um. He figured out I did things differently than other forensic artists." Carly always described herself as an artist to her mom. Edna always said that "anthropologist" seemed like she pinned people to boards and collected them in trays for closer examination. "He was moved by the story."

Edna was quiet for a moment, and then said, "I've always thought it must be terrifying for you, dear. You're so strong. I'm so proud of you."

"Thanks, mom."

"Well, Carly, that's the end of the tale. I should probably say goodnight and let you go to sleep. Just tell your Mr. Northman that your mother can't wait to meet a real Viking."

"I will, mom. I love you." Carly would also tell Eric that his buddy Jean-Jacques had a very, very big mouth.

Carly hung up the phone with her mom after a few more closing words, found the charger for the phone, plugged it in, and sent Anna, the art grad student who had the lease and key to her apartment (as well as her car), a text message that said, "Carly here. call u 2morrow am." They'd agreed to trade messages once Carly was in Shreveport and then meet up the following morning. Carly was so grateful for Anna, who was just so generous to a perfect stranger. Carly's dissertation director had gone to college with the art studio coordinator who'd vouched for Anna's kindness and integrity, and they'd had a pretty good time when Carly had come out to meet everyone and get the lay of the land before shipping off to Sweden. Anna had introduced herself to Carly by saying, "My brother is pathologically shy, so you don't have to worry about me judging you." Carly thought, _how couldn't this woman become my friend_? Anna had rounded up a crew of people who'd owed her favors for similar acts of kindness, and they were going to help her deal with the truck.

Carly arrived just a little while ago in her room happy to have found a friend who knew what her life was like, excited to be in Shreveport, Louisiana, with a genuine job and a loose network of people who seemed willing to help her out. But she was going to bed saddled with a great deal of shame for having thought the worst about Eric Northman the night before, when he was really probably just excited to have found another way that he could have her in his life. Her own mind buzzed in every direction, so she wasn't distracted by all the other things that were happening just down her corridor.

The next morning, Carly awoke to an odd combination of sounds—her cellphone ringing and screams of "Ayuda! Muerto! Hay huesos de aquí! Alguien que está muerto!"

Carly answered her phone, "Anna...," as she rushed to her door. She was wearing a long t-shirt. "Anna, hi. Someone's dead here. I gotta call you back."

"God, Carly, in your room?" Anna sounded horrified, as most people would.

"No, Anna. In the hotel, let me call you back."

Carly dialed, '911', and had the operator direct her to the Shreveport police, "Hi, I'm calling from a cellphone, there's a woman yelling in Spanish that someone's dead.."

"Ma'am. You at a hotel? 'Cause we already got police on the way." The dispatcher reported.

"Thanks." In her rush to get into the hallway and figure out what was going on, she'd left her room without her key, and the door shut behind her. "Fucking perfect."

Carly saw the screaming maid at the end of the hall, surrounded by other guests in various states of dress, all with cellphones to their ear. The maid was surprisingly calm, given the circumstances, and had the presence of mind to hold up her master key and wave it, "Aqui! Por favor, para sus habitaciones." She would let the less dressed back into their rooms.

Although her Spanish wasn't terrific, Carly remembered enough to know, when she dipped into the maid's head, that this wasn't the first time the poor woman—her name was Pilar-had discovered a dead body in one of the rooms. Focusing on the images associated with these words, Carly saw vividly the horrific scenes the maid happened upon before. By comparison, this particular occasion wasn't so bad. Whoever attacked the body in the room—Carly couldn't make out if it was male or female from the harried and unfocused thoughts inside Pilar's head- left a fairly sedate scene. They'd removed the head and hands, and laid the body—without visible clothing or much flesh—under a sheet. There was very little blood on the sheet, so Carly guessed the victim bled out before being tucked in.

"Muchas Gracias, Pilar."

The maid smiled weakly, shook her head, and responded, "La gente esta loca, señorita."

"Si, es verdad." _So true, Pilar. Some are crazier than others._

Carly returned Anna's phone call and filled her in on as much as she could. Carly anticipated that the discovery would delay her exit and the beginnings of her move-in, because standard police procedure would dictate interviewing the occupants of the near-by rooms. Anna was, of course given her nature, willing to accommodate any change in plans.

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, Carly called the front desk, waited on hold, and asked if the management had any idea how long she would need to stay.

"The police are keeping everyone who's not local. So if you are from out of town, you gotta stay, ma'am."

"Well, I'm just moving here, and I'll actually be starting a job Monday where I'll be working with the police pretty closely. Is there a supervising officer downstairs?"

"There are so many here, ma'am." The clerk's voice lowered, suggesting a more confidential tone. "To be honest, ma'am, we've had a few...incidents...in the last year or so, so there are lots of cops here."

Pilar's memories swept through Carly's mind. "Oh, I see." Carly chuckled, "I wish I'd known that. You didn't put that on your brochure, did you?"

"Oh, no, ma'am. It's not like that. All these girls have been 'working girls,' if you know what I mean."

"They've identified the victim?" Carly suspected that this body must be someone whose identity needed to be concealed.

"Well, I don't know about that, ma'am. They told me I wasn't supposed to say anything to anybody about this, and I don't understand Pilar—the maid who found it—too well."

"Okay. If you see someone who looks like she's in charge, let them know I'll be writing up a statement to give to them in lieu of an interview, and that they'll get my address and my phone number at work." Carly wanted to end her stay as quickly as possible.

After writing up a statement that included the approximate time of her arrival, her call to her mom, her text to Anna, and when she thought she'd fallen asleep—and the time recorded by Anna's call this morning, Carly loaded up her stuff and went to the lobby to find someone "in charge" and check out.

The far end of the hall and its intersecting passageway had been cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape and a gaggle of officers and technicians were taking samples, photographs, and measurements. Since the hotel had a horseshoe design, Carly was able to go in the other direction to get to the lobby. She departed unquestioned, a circumstance that diminished her opinion of the Shreveport Police Department somewhat, but they were known for persistence rather than consistency in following procedure.

Once she got to the lobby, she saw an older man, about sixty, stout but not overweight, who was pacing in a circle, talking on a cellphone, his badge displayed in his breast pocket. Carly got out her driver's license and her statement and approached him. "Excuse me, sir, my name is Carly Michael, I'm the new forensic artist and anthropologist who'll be working on the UVVC project over at LSU."

The police officer, Carly guessed he'd have to be a captain or higher, was troubled and confused. "Nice to meet you. Did the District Attorney ask for you to come down here?"

"No, sir. I was a guest here last night at the other end of the hallway. I'm just moving to Shreveport, and I don't start working until Monday."

"Oh. Well, helluva thing to have happen on your first night in Shreveport. Sorry about that kind of welcome." He was jovial and seemed to be willing to talk with her for a few minutes.

Carly kept her mind from wandering into his. After all, if this victim was unidentified, and usual methods available to the medical examiner's office didn't identify him or her right away, she'd know all there was to know about the case eventually, because the bones would be held in the storage unit for her lab. Since there wasn't a skull, she wouldn't be asked to work on it, but she'd probably try to help anyway. But she didn't really want to know any more about the situation right now.

"Well, I'm not moving here to run an ice-cream shop," Carly looked over her shoulder absently, because her reticence was setting in. "I'm supposed to be moving into my apartment today, and there's a crew of people waiting on me. Can I give you the statement I wrote up and my information? And the medical examiner has my police clearance information, which has fingerprints and DNA, so you've got all the info about me you might want. I just need to get out of here as soon as I can."

"Oh," he relaxed even more. "Sure. That's all? Good. I thought you might want to get in on the work."

"No, sir." Carly didn't like blood or guts. She only liked bones once decay or cleaning was done with them. "I'm not a field work type of person—or at least, not when they're fresh."

"If you were, you'd be a suspect, hon. Just means you're normal."

"Thanks." He clearly didn't know much about her. Carly thought that, for once, her reputation for being odd or disconnected hadn't preceded her, or that she was starting to get better. "Can I go?"

"No, problem." He looked around the lobby. "I just gotta get someone to walk you out."

"That's fine. I didn't want to check out until I'd cleared everything with you."

Carly checked out of the hotel, and a patrolman walked her to the U-Haul and cleared the way for her to exit the parking lot. Media trucks swarmed the perimeter of the hotel, and they'd all set up their satellite dishes. Sequestered in the wilds of Sweden, Carly had forgotten what a good old-fashioned USA crime circus looked like, and it was never her favorite thing.

"Well, Carly Michael, welcome to Shreveport, Louisiana. Looks like there will be plenty of work for you."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Carly drove to the house Anna shared with two roommates-other art students at the university. It was on a quiet street on the outskirts of downtown Shreveport that looked like most other gentrifying southern neighborhoods. Bohemians and students coexisted with older African-American families and more recent Latin American immigrants. After finding a space that accommodated the moving truck a few houses down from Anna's house, Carly walked the short distance and knocked on the door.

"Oh my god, Carly," Anna embraced her suddenly, and Carly patted her arm and strained against the unexpected closeness. "Is everything okay? Were you frightened? This is a horrible way to meet Shreveport."

"I'm fine, Anna," Carly tried to avoid eye contact, because she didn't really need any window into what Anna was thinking. It was clear enough. "I didn't even hear or see anything."

"That's good. It's been on the news already. They said it was 'completely horrific'." Anna seemed to expect a story, but Carly didn't want to indulge her.

"Well, one person's horror is another person's..." Carly lost control of the analogy as she surveyed the living room of the bungalow style house. "The woman who found it didn't seem to upset. She just said, 'People are crazy.'"

"I'm just glad you're okay. I have muffins in the kitchen and coffee. Do you want some? I have to call everybody else. My roommates are going to help too."

"That's great. Thanks for everything, Anna." Carly came in and availed herself of the light breakfast and discovered she was hungrier than she expected she would be.

Anna rushed around the house, summoning her roommates and their partners. As she moved around, Carly noticed that Anna seemed much thinner and paler than she'd been in early May. She had bags under her eyes, and her hair seemed flat and wan. She looked like she'd dealt with a major illness recently, and Carly felt horribly guilty for imposing on her.

"So, Anna, how was your summer? Everything go okay? Have you felt well?'

Anna smiled, almost dreamily, "I haven't gotten a lot of sleep the last month or so."

"Oh, is everything okay?"

"Yes, everything's wonderful." Her smile brightened up suddenly. "I've got a new man in my life, and I've been keeping a different schedule than I'm used to."

Carly resisted the temptation to extract more information from her new friend, successfully, although she'd rarely been more tempted. "Well, you have to remember to take care of yourself."

"Oh, I will. I guess it's just all so new." Anna didn't seem inclined to volunteer a lot of information.

Carly thought she might be able to get a few more details with well-placed questions between sips of coffee and bites of muffin. "Where did you meet him?"

"At the studio!" Anna was very excited. "He's an artist. His work is sublime." Anna got dreamy again.

"I'm excited to see it."

"I'll make sure you know when he shows."

"Great."

Four other people joined them in the kitchen, a young woman and three young men, all Carly's age or younger. The young woman was very thin and bony, with tattoos around both wrists, and the man who appeared to belong to her had a two-tone haircut, a nose ring, and disks in his ear-lobes. He wasn't quite as thin as his girlfriend, but he seemed exhausted. The other two men were self-consciously clean-cut, and very attached to each other. After a quick introduction, the two young men who were partnered up with one another struck up a conversation with Carly, while the others moped around the kitchen, sipping their black coffee tentatively.

"Anna tells us you grew up in New York." They both had gorgeous southern accents that would have done beautifully in the film "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil."

"When I was little. But I spent most of my childhood outside Flemington, New Jersey, on a farm." Anna loved New York, but she usually couldn't recreate the enthusiasm for its frenzied life that most people wanted when they met 'real New Yorkers.' "And then I went to the University of New Mexico and then the University of Tennessee. I worked in Memphis last year. My family still lives in New York City."

The taller of the two—the not-roommate-whose name was, unfortunately for him, Jethro, suggested, "The south won't frighten you away then. You're not a completely uninitiated Yankee."

His partner, Alex, nodded. "We usually get one or two Yankee students who float down the river and then fly back home, just horrified!" Alex punctuated each utterance with a wink and wild hand gestures. They made Carly feel at home, and she was excited that Anna seemed to have found at least two healthy, strong hands who could help move her things.

The group caravanned over to the converted industrial building—a former light industry factory and warehouse. Carly didn't know if it would be where she'd stay if the position became permanent, but it would do until the lease run out. Anna followed the van in Carly's Subaru, which had been parked under their car-port all summer, and four other friends met them there. The three young women and one man all looked strong, healthy, and well-rested, so Carly began to have hope that this wouldn't be a terribly difficult experience.

Carly pulled to a back entrance of the complex—a high metal gate that led to a loading bay and a huge industrial elevator. The building was supposed to be very secure, accessible only by residents with access codes. Visitors could call from a phone on the front gate and get buzzed in by residents. Carly wouldn't be able to use this feature until she got her phone service hooked up, but she didn't expect any visitors. Until her apartment was presentable, she'd meet anyone she needed to—she thought of Eric and Sookie—on their territory, not hers.

The elevator had four huge flat-bed dollies, so it only took two trips to unload the van. After all the boxes and small pieces of furniture were in the loft, Anna and Carly returned the U-Haul and picked up some necessary items and pizza and drinks. None of them wanted any beer that early in the day, so Carly reneged on that part of the bargain. With the short work of the move finished, Carly had an impromptu pizza party and they all got a chance to know each other a little bit more. All of the students were happy to share their favorite stories about Shreveport with the new resident.

Greta, Anna's emaciated roommate, extolled the wonders of the Red River as a place to paint. "It really shows how nature just doesn't want people around." But Jethro contributed, "Shreveport's really becoming somewhere great. And there's the Louisiana Boardwalk across the river in Bossier. A lot of people just say 'Shreveport-Bossier,' but it's a mouthful."

Carly also learned that she should call the area Ark-La-Tex, but decided she couldn't say that with a straight face and would rely on the tried and true "Tri-State Area" if she ever needed to talk about the intersection of the three southern states.

Greta's boyfriend, Brian, chimed in, "What's really gonna be cool is the vampire club that's going in downtown."

"Really?" Carly already guessed what it would be called. "What's it's name? 'Dracula's Den'?"

"It's goin' in an old strip joint called Fantasia, so they're gonna call it 'Fangtasia.' Fucking cool, right?"

Jethro and Alex, and a few of the other latecomers groaned. "I don't like puns. They're demeaning," Jethro offered.

''It's still gonna be cool to hang out with vamps." Brian looked over his shoulder at Anna, who was sending off the other non-roommate helpers, who had other commitments. He leaned toward Carly and said "You heard about 'V'?

Jethro and Alex got visibly uncomfortable, and Jethro said disapprovingly, "I'm sorry. I don't have these kinds of conversations. Alex, let's go, we've got to get cleaned up for tonight." They got up to leave, and offered a parting shot, "Carly, I'm ecstatic to know you and hope that you don't wind up being a person I wouldn't like to know." Alex looked meaningfully at Brian on his partner's behalf.

"I really hope not," Carly was sorry, because she would have preferred to hang out with Jethro and Alex rather than humoring someone who offended almost all her sensibilities. At the same time, she wanted to know as much about human reactions to vampires as she could, since she'd missed the opening salvo of the "new normal." Even though she wasn't going into a faculty track, academia had programmed her to look at "research problems." Human responses to vampires would make a great anthropological study. Thank you so much, "Jethro and Alex. I really would like to hang out with you two again."

After their exit, Anna returned to the group, and Brian clammed up, so Carly never found out from him what 'V' was all about. As ill-mannered and ill-healthed as he seemed to be, Carly didn't really want to poke around inside his brain to figure out what he wanted to share with her.

Finally, Anna gave Carly a packet with her lease, her apartment key, an card with the access codes for both gates, and said farewell. Anna showed herself out with Greta and Brian.

Carly had an air mattress, pillows, linens, and towels in a box she'd set aside, so she blew it up. Even if she got herself to go shopping for a bed and couch, it wouldn't be delivered, probably until the next week, so she might as well get comfortable. She was also very, very tired.

Even though Anna had sent her pictures over email, Carly really didn't have any particular feel for her apartment, which looked like a typical loft, with huge windows along the external, north wall. It also had one skylight that opened and closed by means of a switch—an unexpected benefit, since Carly wasn't expecting a top floor apartment. Nearly square, except for an enclosed closet and the bathroom, the apartment would need some kind of dividers to make it feel like a livable space. The architect had designed bookshelves and a desk that stood along the same wall as the closet. They jutted out into the room slightly. Carly opened the closet, which provided extensive storage space. It had a really cool rotating coat bar that operated with a small electric motor. As a result, she didn't need to rummage in the closet to get clothes or anything else out of it.

But when Carly moved back into the main room, she was bothered by the proportions of the closet and desk-bookcase combo. It looked to her as if the closet should extend all the way behind the desk to the external wall, but, instead, it ended where the first bookcase began.

"Probably plumbing or electrical." Even if they were just the bones of buildings, the internal architecture and mechanical elements of houses fascinated her almost as much as human bones. She went back into the closet and looked for an entrance to the unexplained area. After knocking around for quite a long time, she discovered a spring-activated panel that, when pressed, released an otherwise invisible door into the remainder of the closet. Instead of a water heater, or huge group of water pipes or electrical conduits, the floor space was comparatively open: effectively, it wa square foot area without any lights or windows. Carly thought for a few minutes about what she might put there. Her dig equipment—really camping gear—wasn't pretty and took up a lot of space, so this might be a good place for it. But she'd have to get a battery operated light. It was just too dark in there to operate, and Carly always hated dark closets, because they made retrieving stored items so difficult.

Before she started unpacking, she called the phone company to set up her telephone and internet service, which came together pretty quickly, although she had trouble securing an appointment to get it set up.

Carly also mustered the courage to call and leave Eric a message to let him know that she was in town. She'd thought of him, and of Sookie, often that day, especially when the grad student helpers started joking or flirting with each other. But her desire to see Eric was much stronger. Carly really needed to figure out what had actually happened the other night when he was in his room, what her assumptions meant about how she felt about him, and why on earth it was okay for Jean-Jacques to blab to perfect strangers that Eric was a 1000 year old Viking when he'd tried to glamour her into silence. She had too many questions to sit alone and ponder without getting even more neurotic than she already felt. She also needed to quiz him about decent hotels, because her crowd of graduate students hadn't given her any meaningful suggestions, just cautionary tales.

She plugged her cellphone into the wall to charge and dialed Eric Northman's cellphone number.

"You've reached Eric Northman's voice mail. I'm indisposed, currently. Please leave a message."

"Hi, Eric. This is Carly Michael. Sorry that I didn't call you last night to let you know that I was here. I had to call my mom and forgot you'd probably like to know that I'd arrived. I'm in my new apartment, the Industrial Lofts, and they seem nice. Anyway, could you give me a call-you should have the number on your caller ID. I'd like talk to you or maybe see if we could meet up somewhere."

Carly was fairly certain that the voice mail cut her off after "talk to you." _What the hell am I doing? I should just let this rest. He's going to think I'm pursuing him, which I probably am. If this isn't a recipe for an abusive relationship, I don't know what the hell is. I'm a fool._

_Maybe the supervisors at the lab know a good therapist or two who could do sessions on the phone._

She had a plan of action for the first time. She'd get some references from local folks, and call the therapists to tell them that she had issues talking about her problems, and would like to start therapy over the phone, so she didn't have to worry about letting down her guard or getting upset. Carly felt ridiculously proud of herself for this simple idea.

Since Anna had also insisted that they stop for necessary items—coffee, milk, paper towels, toilet tissue—before they got pizza, Carly was in for the night, so she focused all her energy on setting up her stereo and unpacking her kitchen. She put her spartan kitchen supplies away quickly and moved on to the books, accompanied by the strains of her Cleaning Mix CD, a wacky combination of the Go-Gos, Cyndi Lauper, Oasis, New York Dolls, and odd dribs and drabs of heavy metal and country music.

Carly felt she was making good progress. She stooped to examine the inside of the low bathroom cabinet, so she could find places for the few bathroom items she'd kept from her Memphis apartment, towels, and other necessary items, when her stereo cut out and she heard, "Carly, this place isn't safe for you."

When Eric Northman spoke those words in his ominous, unexpected baritone, Carly startled, violently banging the back of her head against the latch of the cabinet. Not only did she hit herself so hard she was incoherent, but she knew she was also bleeding heavily from the impact.

Before she really understood what was happening, she was lying on her air mattress, Eric's wrist to her mouth, and she was sucking again on his blood, so sweet and savory, full of unwholesome, but delectable flavor. After three big swallows, she was coherent, aware, and out of pain. "Eric, what the hell. Why did you startle me like that?"

"I'm really sorry, Carly. I never meant to do that. I just got overwrought when I came in your apartment. Your door was open, and I just walked in." Eric was looking around, crouched in a position that made Carly think he was expecting attackers from every direction. He was on alert.

"I guess I didn't lock it when everybody left. I don't know why it was ajar. Probably one of the neighbors looked in—the music was on pretty loud. It also might have just been the wind." Carly had opened a window and the sky-light earlier. _The pressure difference might have popped the window._

Eric looked at her seriously, "Carly, you don't understand. I just walked in."

Carly disengaged and became suddenly aware of her bloodied hair, shirt, floor, and mattress, and said "No, I don't understand, but I'm a mess. I've got to clean this up."

"You shouldn't move. Let me do it." With that, Eric moved around the room in a blur for a few moments. When he stopped in front of her again, Carly was certain that she needed to get an MRI or a CAT scan, because she was certain she was hallucinating from a concussion or other brain damage.

"You need to wash off and put on something clean. Where are your clothes?" Carly pointed absently at her suitcase, duffel bag, and a few boxes marked "clothes."

A few more blurs, accompanied by the sound of ripping and tearing, and Eric was back with a full set of clothes, one of her nicest casual outfits, underwear, bra, and shoes, and was helping her into the bathroom. "While I'd happily undress you, you probably wouldn't be happy with me." He started the water for her. "But let me know when you're in the shower. I want to be at hand if you get dizzy."

He left the room and closed the bathroom door. Carly felt fine, but was incredibly confused, and was absolutely horrified by her reflection. She looked like Carrie at the prom.

Once in the shower, Carly called out, "Okay, I'm in. You can come back. Just no peeking."

Eric's subtly humming mind, now that she was paying attention and not caught up in her music, was just on the other side of the curtain. "Do you need anything?"

"Just a towel, but they might have blood on them too. There are more in a box outside the door. Can you put one on the toilet?"

"I'll hand it to you when you're done. You can dry off and then I'll help you out. I don't want you to fall."

His concern was touching, but Carly really felt fine. She felt strong, pretty focused, and had no pain whatsoever from her gruesome injury. The only thing that really upset her was the glimpse she got of Eric from the bathroom mirror, visible through a small gap in the shower curtain that she was moving to close. Eric was holding her shirt and was ringing out the blood into his mouth. That sight shook her, and she slipped suddenly, although she recovered herself and didn't fall.

"You okay?" Eric reached through the shower curtain and grabbed hold of her arm, the plastic blocking their skin-to-skin contact.

"I'm fine, really. Let me wash up."

Carly dried, wrapped herself up, and Eric monitored her exit from the bathtub.

"Get dressed, and we'll talk," Eric instructed.

Once out of the shower, healed and cleaned, Carly walked back into the main room and found Eric perched on top of a box of books that sat next to the only armchair she had ever owned.

"Carly, please sit down." Eric gestured next to him at the armchair.

"Don't worry, I know where to sit. I've never given myself too many choices in any of my places." Carly smiled, proud that she could make a joke at her own expense in such a stressful situation.

Eric began, "Vampires haven't told humans about many of our limitations. So, again, please don't share this with anyone, because if it came back that I released the information, I'd probably have someone on my case."

Carly responded, "Okay."

"Vampires can't enter a human home—house, apartment, even a hotel room—without a direct invitation from someone who lives there. Carly, I need to see your lease and figure out if there's been some kind of alteration to a typical contract that allowed me to come inside."

"Wait a minute, what do you mean 'you can't enter a human home.' Your manners are so good you die of guilt?" Carly understood cultural taboos, and knew that, at their core, any taboo was breakable, even one that was universally repellent.

"No. It's not just cultural practice. We cannot enter the home—there's a barrier there that we cannot penetrate. We feel it, and we can't move through it. If we've been invited into a home and that welcome is rescinded, we're cast out. The barrier moves us from the human's presence all the way out of the structure."

"Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously." Eric shook his head. "I know you won't believe me until I show you. It's really not pleasant to get cast out, but if it will make you believe the barrier exists, I'll let it happen so you'll know."

"So you're saying I should have had to invite you inside the building for you to get here?" Carly was still trying to process the rules.

"Not the building, since there are common spaces, but I should have been blocked from entering."

"How did you get in?"

"When I buzzed and didn't hear from you, but felt you there, I glamoured a resident to let me in."

"You really shouldn't do that, Eric."

"I was worried. When the apartment door was open, I was frightened for you and came straight in, terrified that you'd been killed and I just didn't know it yet for some reason..."

"Killed? What?"

"The barrier dissolves with the death of the resident. I was so thankful when I saw you, I didn't think that you'd be frightened and hurt yourself." Eric touched her head gently. "The last thing I want to do is to harm you or see you wounded."

It popped into her head without warning or filter, "You sucked my blood from my shirt, Eric."

He smiled, "I would have preferred to suck it from your leg." He winked.

For once, she didn't blush or run away. _Perhaps this is progress. _"Isn't that gross?"

"Was it gross to take my blood?"

Carly thought for a moment. "No. It wasn't. But I just don't think it can be good for me to do it." And then another question occurred to her. "How did you know where my apartment was?"

"First, I could feel vaguely where you were, although it's not a strong sense. Second, and most significantly, your name was listed on the buzzer, along with your apartment number. Take that off, if you stay here. You shouldn't have both—one or the other, but not both."

"I didn't do that. My friend Anna did it for me."

"Well, fix it if you stay. Can I see your lease now?"

Eric examined the lease, saw Anna's signature on the line and said, "Here's the..." and then saw the limited power of attorney that Carly had signed in May that gave her authorization to sign as Carly's proxy for the lease and for insurance purposes. "No. That's not it."

He read over it again and said, "This is it."

"What's the problem?"

"Your lease grants the building owners and their designees the right to enter the property without prior 'lessee permission or invitation for good cause'. It also says you do not have to be notified of that access."

"Oh, my god, Anna signed that! That's creepy."

"That also means that someone plans to use this building as a safe-house, or a place to shelter vampires." Eric shook his head violently, "We have to get you out of here. You won't be safe here, even for one night."

Carly thought of the closet immediately. "Eric, can I show you something?"

Even though it was a tight fit for the two of them under the rotating clothes-bar, Eric and Carly squeezed into the closet, and Carly released the hidden latch. "Could a vampire hide in here?"

Eric sighed, "Not only could a vampire hide here, its installation was probably ordered by a vampire. Do you remember the closet door in my hotel suite?"

"Sure. You made me laugh until I snorted." Carly smiled at the memory.

"That latch, and this one, was manufactured, and likely installed, by the same company, which is owned by a vampire in Mississippi."

Once they got out, Eric said, "Please pack up a bag. We need to find you somewhere safe to stay. And you're not allowed to stay with the woman who found this place for you. I don't trust her."

Although Carly bristled that Eric thought he could allow or disallow anything in her life, she acquiesced, and thoroughly agreed with his judgment about Anna.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N Wherein we learn a little bit more about Eric and vampires. I've chosen to go with the True Blood story of Pam's creation, but the SVM and fanfiction account of the Corvettes. As usual, I own nothing having to do with either True Blood or SVM, and I regret I can't give proper credit to the fanfic author who talked about the Corvette replacement cycle. If any of you recognize the idea, please let me know and I'll give credit. Thanks for the reviews!

Chapter Thirteen

"Whom do you know in Shreveport?" Eric asked.

"You, Anna, the lab supervisor, but I don't know him well." Carly thought back to the conversation earlier that night. "I met a couple of other people today." She thought of Jethro and Alex, who seemed like reasonable people. She wondered if she might be able to stay with Jethro—she didn't know what his living circumstances were, since the two of them didn't live together.

"If you met them through this woman..."

"Her name is Anna," Carly volunteered.

"Her name might as well be Jezebel the way that I see it right now." Eric accused.

Carly couldn't imagine malice, just naivete. "I can't believe she'd set me up to be unsafe. And am I really any more unsafe than anyone else in the building?"

Eric drew her to him and leaned down so that his chin, lips, and nose brushed against her neck. "You know how you smell. You know what you do to me, and I'm old and controlled." He looked her in the eye, "I don't know if a younger vampire would be able to control himself."

"Really?"

"Yes, Carly, really. You smell like a cat in heat, covered in chocolate and ice cream, thrown into the the pen of a starving tiger in summertime."

"Again, that's really gross."

"It was the best comparison I could think of." Eric smiled.

Carly smiled back at him, "I liked the honey and wheat fields better. That was more wholesome."

Eric quickly kissed her cheek and whispered, "I don't feel wholesome toward you."

"Eric," Carly moved away from him slightly, "I need to ask you about something."

"Anything," Eric smirked, "but I reserve the right to lie if it suits me."

"No, really, Eric. I need to tell you the truth."

He closed the distance, "Only if you let me kiss you." He brushed the backs of his fingers against the contour of her jaw. "A kiss would make me honest."

"Just a kiss?" Carly thought about what she'd tell a therapist. _I'm afraid of kissing because the only time I kissed anyone with any passion, really, he started thinking of screwing his sister, and I threw up on him._

"Just a kiss," Eric affirmed.

"I threw up on the last guy." Carly figured that full-disclosure, or at least full-disclosure of what she'd done, was the best plan.

"Did he deserve it?" Eric queried.

"Totally!"

Eric grabbed her hands, kissed the backs of them, and said, "I'm willing to take a risk."

"Okay."

Eric brought her hands up to her shoulders and moved his own hands to her chin and stooped down to kiss her. His lips were slightly parted as he came close to her. About a centimeter away from her mouth, he reached a finger up and traced the side of her mouth, and she reflexively opened her mouth. At that moment, he closed the small gap and kissed her. Perhaps after three seconds, he retreated. "Ask away."

Carly feared that she might tip over and fall straight into him. After that, she didn't know how she could ask him about what he'd been doing when he became so "distracted" in his suite.

She braced herself against him with one hand on his forearm, and another placed tentatively against his chest. With that gesture, she had a revelation, "Your heart isn't beating."

"No. It doesn't. Remember, I'm a vampire. Un-dead. Revenant. Returned to walk the night." He smiled again. "The old stories tell more truth about us than the new ones."

"But your mouth was," she struggled, "moist. Cool. I can tell your body temperature's lower than mine, but your mouth wasn't dry."

"What can I say?" Eric smiled. "But that wasn't what you wanted to ask, was it?"

"No. Can we sit down?"

Eric sat straight down on the floor next to her and patted on his lap. Carly grinned at his cheekiness, and ran over to grab a dining table chair, and sat next to him.

"This is a really awkward thing to talk about, Eric, but I have to ask you."

"I sense this will be about sex." Eric rubbed his thighs." I hoped we could have a little pillow talk."

"You're not helping me." Carly looked over his shoulder and tried to gather her thoughts.

"I'll stop being an ass." Eric held up two fingers in a mock scout salute. "I promise."

"Okay. Here goes. When you went out of the room the other night, when you went to your bedroom, what were you doing?"

"Oh, I don't like that question. I would much prefer to hear what you thought I was doing." Eric teased.

Carly wanted to get this all over with as soon as possible. The most clinical descriptions always allowed her to talk about the most taboo things. "It sounded as if you were masturbating and reached climax."

Eric started laughing. "Oh, Carly, what an imagination you have! Why did you think that?"

She tried to remember why she thought that he'd been in the room "pleasuring himself," but she struggled. He'd flirted mercilessly with her, said she "distracted him," made him hungry, and then he went away, and finally squealed. "You seemed aroused, and then you went away, and then I heard you squeal something, and then there was another minute or so."

"You're right on one count." He raised himself up and rested his elbows on Carly's knees, and then cradled his head in his hands. "You had aroused me, and I needed to calm down and strategize how to get you into bed. I also remembered that an old friend left a message for me and that I needed to call him."

"But I didn't hear you talking."

"It would have been hard for me to hear you talking if you'd been in your bathroom with the door-shut and then space, and then your bedroom door. Vampires and horny humans can be loud." Eric smirked again at her. "The hotel is incredibly well-soundproofed. And I don't talk very loud when I'm on the phone with another vampire." Eric held her gaze for a moment and then asked, "Satisfied?"

"With the explanation, yes. But I feel like a fool, and really guilty." Carly was genuinely penitent that she'd thought he was as crass as some high-school lacrosse player, or some half-drunk frat boy.

"Don't feel guilty." Eric ran his hands up her thighs until she stopped his hands at the point where short-shorts would have ended. "It means you're thinking of me as a sexual object."

"But you didn't say anything about the art opening invitation, or knowing about my mother."

"Yes," he seemed uncomfortable now, "that an error in judgment. I planned to hold that information back until I had seduced you. I thought having a social invitation from your mother would cement your attachment to me, and that I would be able to make my claim on you firm and public before we traveled together."

"Excuse me? Claim?" Carly brushed his hands off her legs. "Still practicing concubinage, Mr. Northman?"

Eric stood up and brought over his own chair.

"Carly, we need to discuss a number of things about vampire culture. Please, do not take this wrong, but if a human becomes involved with a vampire, she's inevitably brought around other vampires, as you certainly would be at an gallery opening of vampire art." Eric looked absently around the loft, seemingly trying to access a vocabulary Carly could understand. She realized he was struggling.

"Can I take a guess at what you mean?" Carly relished the opportunity to flex some anthropological muscle on the problem of vampires.

"Certainly." Eric seemed happy to be let off the hook.

"Well, so far, I can assume that human beings have functioned in the way we might expect other 'underlings' might function in a low-population hierarchical society. They've provided vampires with labor—as they do one another—and sexual entertainment. But they've also provided food. I would also guess that vampires have had to regulate feeding practices carefully. Vulnerable while sleeping, vampires couldn't leave bodies everywhere, because that could result in detection. How am I doing?"

"Your introduction to the topic is going beautifully, Dr. Michael."

Carly couldn't tell if Eric was humoring her or genuinely impressed. "So the two most efficient strategies would probably be shared consumption, spreading the risk of detection over many vampires who would have more resources to resist being found out, or some sort of symbiotic relationship between one or more humans and a single vampire, or anonymity guessing that would be facilitated by your ability to glamor your victims and make them forget."

"Bravo." Eric clapped in what seemed like real appreciation. "You really should write a book when one is allowed. You've described the situation perfectly. If I were to bring a sweet confection like you to an event and you weren't recognized as mine, then any vampire could … appropriate you, as he or she saw fit. Or they would expect me to share."

"As if I were an asset and not a person." If this was the way that most vampires thought, Carly believed their "Great Revelation" might have been premature.

"Yes, exactly."

"Which am I to you?" Carly looked skeptically at Eric.

Eric looked away, "I'm still trying to figure that out."

"I can take some comfort that you're honest." Carly smiled weakly. "I know you don't want me to be hurt."

"Yes, I want you to be happy." Eric smiled at her so broadly and enthusiastically, she couldn't bear it.

No one, in Carly's life, had ever suggested that she could ever actually be happy. Carly's mother wanted her to be confident, and secure, and functional. Uncle Benjamin just wanted her to be free. He feared that she'd be institutionalized if she fell apart again as she had in high school. Her dissertation director, with whom she'd shared very little about her internal life, wanted her to be done and employed. None of them ever had the temerity to suggest happiness.

"Thank you." Carly knew that Eric wanted her out of the apartment as soon as possible. "Do you have a plan to keep me safe on my road to happiness?"

"Well, it seems cruel to make you move again if unnecessary. I have a very good human lawyer locally, and then another lawyer in New Orleans who writes contracts that would make the Devil blanch."

Carly froze. "You're kidding, right."

"Yes, of course. Nonetheless, if Jim Kelsey can rectify the situation, he's certainly more affordable than Mr. Cataliades, who usually requires first-born offspring." Eric quipped.

"Please, seriously, no, right?"

"You're too fun to tease, Carly. You could keep me occupied—with my clothes on—for hours."

Carly laughed, happy to be flirting away with this gorgeous, playful Viking.

So we'll get Kelsey into the management office tomorrow morning—I'll call his service in a minute and see if he'll call me back. If they'll re-write the lease, you'll be safe, although I'm not crazy about your staying in a vampire safe-house. They might trick you into letting them in, or lure you out into the hallway."

Carly was beginning to feel frantic and trapped in her loft. "Eric. Stop. I'll just move. It's hard enough to live in my skin—and if I have to be dreaming here I'd like to feel safe. I can't do it if I'm afraid Dracula's hiding outside ready for dessert. I'll just do it again. I'm not really unpacked yet." Carly looked around at what ten people had brought in so quickly and wondered how long it would take her to do it again. She couldn't really tell Anna that she was moving and needed help again.

Eric moved toward her and stroked her hair. "Don't worry. I have some daytime people who work for me. I'll have them help you. It's the least I can do. I should have taken an interest in where you were living earlier."

"Why would you have?" Carly took her opportunity to tease, "Remember how bad I smelled?"

"Punishment for my own impatience, as I see it." Eric made a "Let's go" gesture. "We need to figure out where you're staying tonight. We can go to my office and make some calls."

Eric took her duffel bag and another small suitcase and escorted her down to his car. When she saw his Corvette, Carly burst out laughing.

"You don't like it?"

"I don't know why, but I thought a viking would drive a Saab." Carly realized that she felt reasonably comfortable, and safe, with Eric Northman, and willing to be herself.

"Touché." He deposited the bags in the trunk and then opened Carly's door in an ostentatious show of courtesy.

"My..." Eric stopped talking.

"Your what?"

"No matter. We have a lot of things to talk about."

As she expected, Eric still drove like a Viking, fast, authoritatively, clearly expecting the world to bend itself to his will. Carly spent most of the drive with her hands over her eyes. She looked forward to being back at the wheel as soon as possible. She fantasized briefly about driving Eric around in her Subaru, moving as slowly as possible, squeezing every bit of energy out of the gas in her tank. It might kill him to move so slowly.

Eric pulled behind a building that clearly had been a nightclub. It was surrounded by large dumpsters, locked storage trailers, and some scaffolding. "I'm the lead investor in this club."

"Yes, Fantasia. There's quite the buzz about it."

"Then my PR team is doing their job. That's good to know." Eric seemed satisfied with his business decision.

"I'm not sure if the guy who told me about it would be the model customer. He seemed kind of sleazy." Carly tried to remember Brian's face clearly. "Skinny, unhealthy looking, piercings, ear disks."

"Sounds like our primary demographic." Eric opened the door marked "Employees Only," and turned on a few light switches. "It's a mess in here, so you really can't get an idea of what it will look like. I'll give you a tour when we're closer to opening. It's still way more 'low-rent cover for prostitution' than 'vampire bar tourist attraction.'"

Eric's office seemed well lived in, crowded with filing cabinets, computers, and a sofa. "Did you own the building when it was the 'low-rent cover for prostitution.'"

"No. As you suggested earlier, the best way to avoid detection, as a vampire, is to stay on the right side of human laws." Eric pulled a Rolodex out of desk drawer. "The strip-bar owner was convicted of pandering, and the building went up for auction. The three of us bought it, although I have the controlling share."

"Are the other two vampires?" Carly asked.

"Lazy vampires. Notice that we're alone." Eric gestured toward the door. "But I'll put a fire under them to fulfill their responsibilities. Pam's been managing much of that 'PR' and Longshadow has been complaining that his share isn't big enough, but we'll be ready for our grand opening. The construction team—they're from Jackson—is really making great progress, and they're working at a good rate. They're working off a debt." Eric's smile seemed predatory to Carly. He retained his viking business acumen as well.

Eric called his lawyer's answering service. Carly had never seen a lawyer return a call so promptly, so she assumed that Eric required a great deal of help with contracts. Eric explained Carly's situation, read the offending clause in the lease aloud to the lawyer, and had to cast his arm out to the side so he wasn't deafened by the profanity-laced explosion of disapproval that thundered through the phone. Mr. Kelsey declared, "That bull-shit is illegal, even in the moral cesspool that is Louisiana. I'll have her out of that lease in two shakes of a monkey's tail. But she should get all her stuff out first and quick."

Kelsey knew the Industrial Lofts' lawyer, so he was certain that he'd be able to secure a visit early. He also thought that the threat of disbarment that he planned to issue would be enough to end the problem quietly and quickly.

Eric asked, "But do you know exactly who owns it that building? I really need to have that information, Kelsey."

The response wasn't audible to Carly, although she wondered why Eric was so determined to know that information if she was going to be out of the building tomorrow.

Eric started to wrap up the phone call, "Well, thank you for solving one of our problems, Jim. Now I've just got to figure out where she can stay for the next couple of days until we find her somewhere permanent."

Carly was pleasantly surprised. She'd been mulling over what she was going to do when Eric offered her a place to stay. She wasn't entirely certain how she'd respond. His tenderness earlier had really gotten to her, and she'd begun to think that she might have misjudged him, although the memory of his attempt to glamor her still lingered, always at the edge of her consciousness, suggesting an abusive personality.

Kelsey thundered through the phone again, "She can stay in the guest house! My daughter's usually there, but she's in France for the year doing some expensive shit. As long as she likes, Carly can stay."

Eric seemed as startled as Carly at the invitation and became very serious. "Jim, I've got to ask you a question: on the deed to the house, who is the listed owner? That's a very important consideration for me. I need to know that she's in a house that's owned by a human being, not a corporation, or a limited partnership, or any other abstract entity. It's got to be a living human being."

"Damn, Eric. Sometimes you're just spooky." Mr. Kelsey laughed heartily into the phone. "The house is in my wife's – you remember Phyllis-name. Insulates it from lawsuits against the firm. And she's as living and healthy as any human being you'd want to meet."

"That's very kind, Jim Kelsey. You're a good man. How do we get in to the house? I don't know when I'm going to be able to get her over there."

Eric and Kelsey made arrangements so that Eric could retrieve the key from a lock box on the side of Kelsey's garage. Kelsey also said meaningfully, "And you're welcome to come and stay there, too, Eric. Just go right in. I've invited you, got that."

"Thanks."

"It's got a nice wine cellar, good door, no windows." Eric made the universal "talks too much sign," and Carly started to giggle. "Phyllis made me put it out there, because she said those few extra steps would keep me from drinking too much. She's right. Too much trouble. Got a great collection over there. Everything off limits is taped up, but Carly can open any of the drinking bottles she wants."

"I will remember your generosity, Jim. But what can she pay you in rent? She was paying $850 at the lofts."

"Pshaw, Eric. All in the family. She just needs to pay her cable bill, that's all I'll ask. I'll have Phyllis go over it with her."

When Eric hung up the phone, he grimaced. "Oh, he's going to want me to do something special for him, I can just tell."

"Opening night at Fangtasia VIP?" Carly suggested.

"No. I'll have to let him use one of my apartments this summer." Eric shook his head. "I hate having people in my space." Carly now understood why an invitation hadn't been forthcoming.

They went back to the loft, and Eric retrieved a dolly, piled it high, and then loaded up the back of the Subaru with everything Carly wanted to have with her right away—her art supplies, clothes, and anything else that would fit into the car. She was worried about where she would put her books, especially if she was staying in someone else's house. After closing everything up, and giving Eric the key, lease, and key codes, Carly followed him over to Jim Kelsey's...compound. Carly realized immediately that he wasn't just a lawyer—he was a super-lawyer. He must have worked for huge, monied, litigious interests that had money that they could burn up in workable hours fees.

Once they got inside, Carly whimpered, "I'm so sorry, Eric."

"Why, Carly?"

"Kelsey's a blood out of a stone kind of a lawyer, isn't he?"

Eric laughed. "Luckily, he gets the blood from his opposition's stones, not from his clients'. He's a good lawyer and seems to be as decent a human being as a lawyer can be."

Carly was curious, "How long has he known you were a vampire?"

Eric thought for a moment. "Well, he's about fifty-five, I've been operating in Shreveport for fifty years, and he's been my lawyer since he got out of law school, so I've been his client for thirty years. He's known I was a vampire for about twenty-five."

_Wow._ The scale of Eric's life hit her square in the chest. He'd lived probably fifteen hundred human lives. The life expectancies that Eric had exceeded, the people he'd known, the people he'd fed from, likely the people he killed, the scale dwarfed any comprehension of his life experience that she thought she had.

"Now I get it."

"What?"

"Why he said, 'All in the family."

Eric got Carly settled in, at least preliminarily, and then they sat on the sofa together.

Carly decided it was time to start going through the conversational hurdles he'd mentioned earlier in the evening.

"Eric, I guess we need to start talking."

"Most likely," he replied.

"Are you hungry? Do you need to eat before we start talking?"

Without warning, Eric's fangs popped out, and he seemed unhappy to reveal them. Yet this time, Carly didn't jump or run away.

"I'm sorry." Eric apologized and said, "the prospect of feeding from you is so," he touched her cheek, "tempting. They just came out."

Carly couldn't believe she was asking this question. "Have you given up feeding on human beings now that synthetic blood is available?"

The idea of Tru Blood must have disgusted him, because his fangs retracted. "I don't know enough about human food to make a comparison. I'll just say, honestly, that I don't usually drink it at all."

"Really, what about the blood in the room the other night?" Carly remembered the blue mason jars.

"That was human. It was just—donated. A small concern pays donors and bottles it for vampires who, like me don't eat to eat as much. It's mostly bottled for caterers and hotels"

Carly was at sea again. "I don't understand."

Eric took her hand, "As vampires age, our need for blood diminishes, our hunger diminishes, to the point where we drink very little. I was quite gluttonous the other night." Eric traced the line where she'd cut her hand. "I could have subsisted just on the blood from your hand," he then put her hand to his cheek. "But being near you, and unable to touch you or drink you, drove me to distraction. I overate to compensate."

He hadn't meant it to be funny, but Carly found it very amusing. "Vampires eat nervously too, I guess."

"Yes. Not often, but we do. I didn't eat yesterday at all, and I haven't eaten today. I'm not actually hungry, although I could always have dessert." He smirked at her, and Carly could hardly breathe.

"Well, if you don't need to eat, then I guess we can talk."

Eric leaned forward and brushed his lips across her forehead and down to her ear. "You are a terrible tease, Carly Michael. You don't even know how wrapped around your finger I am."

Carly shook her hand free from Eric and tried to get her temperature down. He was so close to her, and her skin felt like it was on fire. Every piece of clothing she wore was too tight, and she just wanted it off, to plunge into a cold bath-tub and stop panting for him like she was some lovesick teenager. Of course, Carly's lovesick teenager was purely hypothetical, so she didn't know what to do.

"Eric, we need to talk first."

"Before," he raised his eyebrow at her and blew stray hairs out of her face.

"Before anything else happens. We both need to know more about each other."

"Fine, because I want to know everything." He drew out the last word seductively.

_If he'd behaved this way instead of trying to glamour me...I'd probably still be in a Memphis hotel room_.

"You said I needed to know things about vampires. And I need to know about this art show, and what this 'v' is that Anna's friend was talking about..."

"Who told you about that?" Eric pulled back again, his posture taut and threatening.

"Anna's roommate's boyfriend, the one with the piercings and the ear disks. The one I said was sleazy and you wouldn't want him around. You said he was your 'demographic.'"

Eric remained tight and watchful for another second and then relaxed. "Okay. Remember how I said I expected my blood to have certain 'effects' on you?"

"Yes. It healed me and you thought I'd dream of you."

"Because I'd given it to you directly and willingly. I don't share my blood indiscriminately. I traded it once for information, and I nearly died. I learned my lesson then and have been stingy with it ever since. In fact, you're the only non-vampire who has had my blood in sixty years. But some vampires treat their blood differently, as a commodity. They've sold it or traded it for sex or other things that they've wanted. Young vampires, particularly, can be foolish with their blood."

"Why on earth would anyone do that? Wouldn't they need to feed more if they did that?" Carly was still struggling to cope with all the nauseating details of vampire existence. She didn't like blood or gore at all. "Wouldn't it make them sick after a while?"

"If they didn't feed often enough, of course. But here's where you'll find gluttonous vampires, vampires who like to feed so much, they give away or sell their blood to make room for more."

"Yuck."

"For once, I agree completely, although I would never hesitate to share with you, especially in a direct exchange, which is reported to be one of the best sensations a vampire can have with a human being."

"Um.."

"Don't worry." Eric whispered in her ear. "I will never force you or trick you into doing anything you don't want to do. You've already taken my blood willingly, so I don't need to. And you would have died if I'd not given it to you before."

"I know. I believe you."

"So 'v' is illicitly consumed vampire blood—blood that's trafficked, either by vampires willing to sell it, or, increasingly, by humans who've drained vampires."

"Good lord."

"Yes. Vampires have disappeared all over the US and Europe, particularly in places known for their existing drug cultures: Los Angeles, New York, Detroit, Amsterdam." Eric shook his head sullenly. "It's quite a problem."

"Okay. I'm never talking to that guy again."

"I'd like a picture of him, though, if you can get it for me. We'll keep him out of the bar when it opens, and let the security guards know to keep him away from the building."

"Sure. I'll figure out some way to get one." Carly thought about how she was going to approach Anna about the loft and negotiate an exit from the relationship that wouldn't hurt Anna's feelings. She couldn't have put Carly in this position intentionally.

"There's something else we should talk about—I need to tell you about how vampires reproduce, and about my own progeny, Pam."

Carly's eyes widened. "You were going to say, 'My daughter' when we were in your car, weren't you!" Carly was so unused to having people keep secrets from her, especially when they were acting "suspiciously" that she felt like she'd won a prize on a game show for guessing the right answer.

"Yes. She buys me a corvette every few years. She bought me an original one, which I have garaged, and then buys me the models that rate well ever since."

"How... long ...has she been a vampire?" Since visible age and real age weren't correlated, Carly still couldn't think of Eric as "old." She guessed that she'd feel the same way about Pam once she met her.

"About a hundred years. I met her in San Francisco."

Since sharing blood seemed to be such a sexual experience, Carly forged ahead and asked the obvious question. "Were you...are you...lovers?"

"We were once, but more significantly, she's my progeny and I'm her maker. It's not a relationship that can be described in human terms, because progeny and maker are everything to one another."

Carly's mind circled back to the previous topic. "So if I were yours, would she have...access to me too?"

"No. Like I said," Eric came close to her ear again, "I don't like to share."

"Good." Carly took small comfort that if she were a piece of pie, Eric would have the only spoon. She ran through the topics in her mind having to do with vampires, trying to find a reason not to touch Eric more intimately, or kiss him, and she circled back to the art opening.

"Jean-Jacques told my mother you were a Viking."

"He must trust her."

"But you didn't want me to know?" Carly remembered the glamouring attempt again and moved away from him.

"I didn't want you to share the information unnecessarily. Locally, among humans, I wanted my age to be a secret, or at least concealed. Other vampires know I'm very old, but Jean-Jacques is a little older." Eric smirked, "He was probably just preparing your mother for that disclosure."

"How old is he?" Carly couldn't fathom the extent of vampire's existence.

"About two hundred years, give or take." Eric leaned back, preparing for another story. "Jean-Jacques was one of Charlemagne's advisers who'd become a bishop."

"My lord! That's amazing."

"I'm disappointed, Carly. I thought Vikings were the most amazing things." Eric pouted.

"Amazing-looking." Carly smiled, "But to have helped Charlemagne take over Europe, that's pretty astounding, you have to admit."

"Grudgingly, yes." Eric shifted around in his seat. "Nevertheless, Jean-Jacques is a superior vampire."

"He said the same about you to my mom."

"And he's incredibly truthful." Eric appeared to enjoy this banter. "His work in New York has been extraordinary."

"How long has he been there?" Carly was fascinated to learn about how long vampires had been involved in human society without anyone realizing it.

"He came with Verrazzano."

"No. Really? You're kidding."

"He provided most of the financial backing for the expedition, and Verrazzano kept him safe and then left him, and his entourage, behind once they'd built an underground shelter. I believe it was in what is now Central Park, near a Leanpe trading post. Jean-Jacques has always been a scholar at heart, so he wanted to learn more about our kind in the New World."

"I really want to meet him, now. He's bought a few books from my father's collection, but I've never seen him face-to-face."

Eric looked pensive. "It's probably a good thing, because he would have wanted to study you, and find out what you are."

The idea of being part of a "specimen collection" made her shiver. "Well, I'll probably have to, if I'm going to be your 'plus one' to this exhibition."

"Carly," Eric said seriously, "I don't think you should go. I want you to be mine, but I know I can't force you to be, so I don't want to pressure you into it. You shouldn't go, if you're not mine, or if there hasn't been time for me to make that public. You wouldn't be safe."

Her heart started beating as fast as if were running at top speed, and she tried to catch her breath and slow it down. The humming from Eric's brain started to grow louder, and run at a lower frequency, so she knew he must be serious and intent on something.

"What does it mean, to be yours?"

Eric moved closer to her, and Carly didn't retreat. "We would have to exchange blood, preferably three times. We may have already done it once, with the other night. And then make love. Often."

Carly gulped, and asked "How much blood—a drop, or a transfusion?"

Eric took her hand, "Just a little. Three times. Although I'm nervous, because you don't seem to react to the blood in the way most people do. I fear whatever you are might prevent it from working."

"Well, I've been thinking of you," Carly volunteered.

"Dreaming?"

Carly shook her head. "No dreams," and then she admitted, "I would have liked to have them."

Eric leaned in and kissed her gently again on the mouth, and waited for her to respond. She returned the kiss, chastely. Both of them kept their eyes open.

"Why are you still a virgin, Carly? You're beautiful, brilliant, funny. Someone should have claimed you by now." Eric looked at her with a combination of desire and despair that melted Carly's resolve.

"I don't know." She lied. But then she kissed him, opening her mouth and waiting for his trial, to see if he brought his cool tongue toward her lips.

Instead, he retreated and looked deeply into her eyes. "I don't believe you. Tell me."

Carly started to weep, and as her tears fell down her cheeks, Eric moved his head so that he caught them on his lips. What little determination she had left, determination to keep her hardest secret from him, fell away and she opened up to him complete. "I hear and see what people are thinking. I'm telepathic."

Eric pulled his face away a few inches and stroked her face. "Can you hear what I'm thinking?"

"No, it's like white noise, like the sound of a fan."

"Good to know." Eric giggled. "If you could hear me, I'd expect you to be blushing, or naked and under me."

Carly pushed him away. "That's exactly why I've never been able to get intimate. When you kiss someone, it's like their thoughts push your own out of your head, and you can't enjoy what's happening to you."

Eric kissed her gently again and then asked, "Does the white noise force itself on you?"

"No." Carly gently stroked his jaw and the line of his neck, admiring his strength. "No. I still feel my own sensations."

Eric kissed her palm, and then stretched himself out against the back of the couch, again in triumph. "I believe we have an excellent prognosis, Dr. Michael."

They both started to laugh.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N This chapter was really hard for me. I hope you enjoy it. As usual, I own nothing having to do with True Blood or the SVM.

Chapter Fourteen

The two of them-vampire and artist, viking and telepath, man and woman—sat on the couch for a while, quietly enjoying each other's presence. Carly finally made a decision and moved close to Eric.

"I don't know how I feel about the sex. I still don't know if I'm ready for it. I'm thinking about getting therapy," Carly explained. "But I want to be connected to you. I know that much."

Eric nuzzled into her hair and whispered, "Thank you." He kissed her neck, and Carly heard the sound as his fangs popped out.

She stiffened and asked, "Will it hurt?"

"Perhaps a little, but I won't bite you very hard. Just enough for a mouthful." Eric licked her earlobe, and Carly felt the smoothness of his fangs as his mouth slid down her ear.

Carly pulled far enough back away from him so that she could see him, and then kiss him, cradling his fangs in her bottom lip for a moment, until she could tell that they were sharp as needles. "Please bite me, Eric."

Eric's eyes glimmered, "Where?"

"Anywhere that's bare right now." Carly didn't want to expose more vulnerability than she had to.

"Oh, decisions, decisions." Eric moved into the crook of her neck, and whispered, "I could bite you here," he kissed her gently, and then he followed the line of her shoulder to her upper arm, and then kissed the crook of her elbow. "I could bite you here."

Carly was so warm and loose. She felt like her limbs were going to fall off her torso.

Then Eric took her hands and gently pressed her wrist to his cheek, "Or I could bite you here."

"Eric, please do it already," Carly sighed.

"No, this is too much fun." He put his hands on her thighs and then knelt in front of her, massaging her thighs and calves with one long stroke. Eric straightened out her legs and used her ankle to caress his chin. "This might be too far from your lips."

"Please, this is too intimate." Carly was starting to feel like she was losing control of herself. She hadn't touched him yet, so when she brought Eric's head back toward her neck, she clearly intended for him to act, to bite her neck.

There was no hesitation. Eric bit her neck, not over an artery or a vein, Carly knew that, but in the gap between two forks of her thyrocervical artery, just above her clavicle. It hurt for a moment, but the pain was no more than the prick of two pins against her skin, he had to apply so little pressure. Eric sucked gently, and when Carly felt a small stream of blood escape the side of his mouth, he stopped and began licking the wound, catching the errant blood that had escaped him. After swallowing, and licking his lips, he looked at her, and said, "I'll never get enough of you, ever." He bit hard on his lips and then kissed her forcefully, and she sucked and sucked at his lips, kissing him more passionately than she'd ever kissed anyone. After the wound closed up, he leaned his forehead against hers, moved away, and said, "How do you feel?" She could see that Eric's fangs had retracted.

"Good." Carly couldn't say anything more. All language failed her. She was on fire, she felt as if her body was opening up, ready to swallow him. "Can we do that again?"

"You want me to turn you into a pin cushion?" Eric was stroking her rib cage, extending his fingers close to her breast.

"Am I yours yet?" Carly asked.

"Not quite yet," Eric smirked. "But I thought you didn't want to have sex with me?"

After just those words, Carly grabbed hold of both of his ears, pulling his face to hers, and kissed him deeply and aggressively When she stopped to breathe, "I just want more of you."

"As much as you want, you can have." Eric lifted her up in the air, and rotated himself under her, so she was sitting on his lap. He reached into his pocket and drew out the ancient pocket knife. "Let's try this. I'll bite you and cut my wrist." He trembled, aroused—she could feel the extra pressure under her- "Then we'll drink from each other at the same time."

"Okay."

Eric bit the other side of her neck, just as shallowly as he had before, but he stabbed his wrist with startling force. They swallowed in unison, and after the first gulp, something changed, indescribably. Carly experienced a sensation of overpowering intimacy and comfort. It was as if boundaries between them disappeared and they were pure energy, twisting and encircling each other. After three swallows—Eric broke them free from each other. "Stop. That's enough. You're mine."

He picked her up and carried her over the bed and laid her out. One part of her still wanted to protest, but the rest of her didn't just capitulate; it, in fact, was the aggressor. "No, Eric Northman, you're mine."

"A vampire can never be claimed, Carly." Eric looked seriously at her. "Only the claim of progeny for its maker means anything."

"So what, if you're only mine right now, right here. I know you've lived a thousand lifetimes and more. But for this short one of mine, right now, for the blink of an eye that's my life, I claim you." Carly understood, deeply, with all her training, all her belief in the relativism of culture, that she could never fully participate in Eric's world. But she believed in some universals—the universals of attachment and respect. He felt obligated to protect her, she knew. And she'd committed to feeding and comforting him, to being his companion, even if occasionally, and it was more than she'd ever had with anyone else, and she promised herself it would be enough, even if it couldn't last forever.

"Then I am yours." Eric kissed her, and undressed them both.

When they lay against each other, naked, Eric said, "No vampire will ever have you, but me."

"I know." Carly felt as if these were vows of some sort. "I only want you. No one else. No human or vampire."

Eric threw his head back and laughed, "You will never want anyone else but me. Remember that, even if it hurts right now."

Rather than waiting for Eric to penetrate her, Carly threw herself over him and pressed him down. "My choice, Eric. Not your seduction. My choice."

Even though the sensation of filling herself with him made her cry out, Carly felt the whole evening, the whole experience, more than just his luscious bulk, filled a void she'd never even been able to name.

They moved together for hours, and after finally learning the definition of "orgasm," Carly began to wonder exactly how far the main house was from her bed, whether poor Phyllis and Jim had been awakened by all of her cries and all of Eric's exclamations in Swedish from some period or other. Eric finally grew still, not exhausted, because his tumescence never abated, no many how many times he cried out, or panted, or exclaimed Carly's name.

"Dawn nears, my sweet." Eric whispered.

"What do you want to do?"

Eric seemed grieved. "I should go. I need to be near my computer and my phone. I need to go home."

"You didn't take me there."

"No, I'm sorry. Not yet. Not when you have to be working. If you came with me, you'd be trapped there all day. That wouldn't be fair."

"Okay."

Eric dressed, and then leaned down to her. "Tomorrow night. You'll meet Pam tomorrow night. Your things will be here at one."

"Thank you for taking care of me." Carly's entire life had changed so dramatically in 72 hours, she didn't know where to start with her gratitude.

"Thank you for being mine. I wish..." Eric paused. "I wish I could share everything with you. Every moment of my life." He kissed her gently. "Please lock up after I leave."

Once Carly was in bed, she fell asleep immediately and drifted into a dream.

The smells around her were rich, pungent pines and sweet spruces, with the sensation of cushiony undergrowth, cool mosses tickling her feet. She walked slowly and deliberately, weight on her back, and a cool sensation in her hand. She looked down, and saw a sword, the hilt covered in leather thongs wrapped tightly, worn smooth with use. It fit her hand perfectly. But it wasn't her hand. Strong, large, and male, this hand held the sword grip casually, but with confidence.

She moved through the boreal forest nearly silent, but suddenly heard a small sound to her left. She rotated her head and saw a man she recognized, but couldn't name. She continued through the forest toward a clearing, turning her head at a sound to her right, made by another familiar man. Without warning, she was set upon, swinging the sword, drawing a hammer over her shoulder and swinging it with her left hand. She turned, made contact with an attacker, crashing the hammer against his head, slashing at the neck of another assailant. Both men dropped lifeless before she even raised the weapons again to strike the next attacker, who fell just as quickly. Surveying the scene, she stood straight, admiring the work of her companions, but then found herself stabbed at her side, a dagger driven under her light mail armor. She sliced the head off the man wielding it, and then struggled to stand. Her companions rushed toward her, supporting her.

They exclaimed, "Brother, king," and other phrases she recognized but couldn't understand. They walked her further into the clearing and laid her against a rock. "Pull out the dagger and die, my lord."

"Prepare me for the valkyries," a voice came out of her mouth, and she knew, these were Eric's words, Eric's battle, Eric's death. She couldn't awaken, submerged in the dream and unable to rise to consciousness. "Build me a pyre."

She felt herself lifted and laid out. "Let me bleed, and meet my father, then burn me." Her companions kissed her, kissed her hand, promised to die with her. "No. Another day, friends. The women are waiting for me. Fight again in my name."

One kindled a fire while the sun set, and another pulled out the dagger. Her sight blurred with the blood loss, but she knew that she saw their heads fly from their bodies, and a creature, an imp, a child with blue lines across his arms, sat on her chest. She asked, "Who are you?"

"I am Death. Will you be my companion?"

"Will there be life, and joy? Friendship? Family?"

"You will be father, son, lover, friend. You will live in death."

"Yes."

All was darkness in the dream, but then she felt weight pressing against her limbs, which struggled, but were suffused with strength. And moonlight above her, and the imp, her father, friend. "What are you?"

"I am vampire. So are you. I am Godric, your maker."

Carly awoke, but was invigorated and aware. "Fucking hell."

The rest of her day went smoothly, although she felt strangely vigilant. Phyllis came by to say hello was very kind and told her that her husband had mentioned the cable bill just to placate Eric.

"Northman always wants to pay his fair share, but he's done so much for us. Jim wouldn't have the practice he has without Eric's referrals. We owe him."

"Thanks," Carly felt privileged to have fallen in with people who seemed to think highly of Eric. "But I really don't want to be kept."

"No, Carly, don't think that way. If you're a friend of Eric's, you're welcome here. You're family. Not like Eric comes over for Thanksgiving and Christmas—I don't want to give you the wrong idea. But he's always been generous with us, and the kids. Why, just this morning we got a note from him with a key to his apartment in Paris. He said we could use it whenever we wanted while our daughter was there, just to let him know when."

"Wow." Carly was amazed. "He just sent it, without anyone asking for it?"

"Yes, a courier showed up at the door at eight this morning. Jim hadn't left for work or even talked to him since last night!" Phyllis beamed. "Eric's always done things that way. I've only met him a couple of times." She started laughing. "I think Jim's happy about that. That Eric Northman makes a girl's head turn, doesn't he?"

Carly blushed, "Yes." _In more ways than one, lady._

As promised, Carly's things showed up at one o'clock and were rapidly deposited in the small guest house, everything but her limited furniture.

"Where's the furniture?"

The man who seemed to be in charge, who called himself "Beau," said, "We were gonna talk to Mr. Northman about that. We hoped you wouldn't notice before we got him."

"What's wrong?" Carly was nervous.

"Well, I hope you weren't attached to anything too much."

"Why?"

"When we got to your apartment, the place was open, and the furniture was all smashed up."

"Smashed!" Carly thought back to Eric's certainty that she wouldn't be safe there, even one night.

"Yeah. We called the police. This frilly armchair really had the worst of it. The upholstery was all ripped to pieces, and then this wood chair was smashed over your table." Beau shook his head, "We looked at the boxes, and only a few of them were open, and all your dishes and bathroom stuff seemed fine. The book boxes were still all sealed up."

"Wow."

"Yeah. It was a good thing you weren't there. Or Mr. Northman. He would have torn them apart. I ain't seen him angry, but I wouldn't want to either."

Since the guest house was furnished, Carly figured that the old furniture wasn't a terrible loss, although she'd miss the chair. As Jim's guest, she had all she needed, as well as many things she probably didn't. The espresso machine seemed particularly extraneous and slightly dangerous. Carly put all her duplicates in a storage closet that had a little room, and got to unpacking her books. Phyllis had been packing up her daughter's things to make room for Carly's, and had overheard the conversation with Beau.

"Darlin', I'm glad you're here. Eric Northman's instincts, as far as I have seen, have never been wrong. I guess you don't get to be that old if they're not."

"You know how old he is."

"Well, Jim's spilled a few beans to me, just to me." Phyllis smiled and seemed to hope that Carly would be discreet with Eric. "He never says anything about Eric to other people. It's funny, because he calls Eric his 'Minnesotan.' But some of Eric's property transactions over the years have been very specific. Two years ago Jim negotiated the purchase of this huge tract in Sweden—Eric practically bought the whole island. Jim told me it was where Eric was born and that's why he wanted it. He's bought other spots in Sweden over the years too—apartments and small timber farms."

Carly would have to ask Eric why he made the purchase so recently. She wondered if the promise of the "Great Revelation" made him want to recover his roots.

Phyllis liked to chat, and told Carly about her daughter's escapades—she wanted to be a fashion designer—and her brand new grand-children who lived in Baton Rouge. Her oldest son was a lawyer who worked as a legislative clerk. He planned on a career in politics. Carly found Phyllis pleasant, and sincere, and basked in her company. After hours with Phyllis, Carly realized that she'd never been troubled by what was going on in her brain, and wondered if this new connection with Eric had changed anything about her 'gift.' She dipped into Phyllis's brain to test the hypothesis, and there was. In five seconds, Carly knew everything about Phyllis, every secret, every trauma, every joy. She knew her favorite perfume, the name of her best childhood friend. More significantly, Carly wasn't overwhelmed by the knowledge. If she focused on Phyllis's current stream of thoughts, she heard and saw everything: Phyllis's conviction that Carly was a sweet girl who was lucky to have someone like Eric Northman, because a good girl deserves a strong man, but she hoped she wouldn't become a vampire. Phyllis worried that her daughter didn't eat enough and thought that should have called by now from France, and that she was grateful they'd be able to visit her now.

Finally, Phyllis smiled at Carly a little uncomfortably and asked, "Is everything okay, dear?"

"Oh, yes. It's just been tiring. I didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

Phyllis laughed long and hard, "Oh sweet child, we heard!"

"Oh no, I'm sorry." Carly was mortified.

"Don't worry. It sparked a fire in the main house too." Phyllis winked and left Carly alone to figure out the next step in her life as a woman with a new sexual relationship, a new job, a new place, a new friend who seemed just like her, and a new friend she needed to break up with as quickly as possible.

After a little thought, Carly decided that Beau had given her the information she needed to deal with the last of her new circumstances. Although the guest house had its own line that Phyllis encouraged Carly to treat as her home number, Carly called Anna on her cellphone, planning to keep her new home address to herself.

Greta answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Hi, um, Greta, this is Carly. Can I speak to Anna?"

"Yeah, Carly, hey. How's the apartment?" Greta inquired.

"Well, that's kind of what I need to talk to Anna about."

"She's still asleep, but she's practically slept all day, so let me get her awake." Greta set down the phone, and Carly could hear her say, "It's Carly."

Someone picked up the phone, "Hey Carly, this is Alex."

"Hi. Thanks again for helping, yesterday."

"No problem really. I just wanted to give you my cell number, and Jethro and I felt really bad about our dramatic exit, so I wanted to apologize."

"I understand. I didn't really get it at the time, but I'm guessing that Jethro has a problem with people who take illegal drugs." After Eric's explanation of "V," Carly concluded that its consumption and trafficking were dangerous, violent business that she, too, objected to. Anything that resulted in widespread disappearances, and, presumably, deaths, should be stigmatized and avoided.

"Exactly, Carly." Alex affirmed. "Jethro's little sister became a methamphetamine addict, and, before she died, it tore her family to pieces. He hardly even drinks."

"I don't blame him."

Alex lowered his voice perceptibly, "And he has real problems with Brian. He's been trying to get me to move out with him, but I don't want to live with his roommates either, so we've been biding our time until we can afford a house all our own."

Another question answered for her, Carly wrote down Alex and Jethro's numbers. She told them she'd prefer to wait until their housing situation was solved to socialize, and Alex agreed quietly. The break-in might help with another task. "Also, Alex, I have to get a picture of Brian. My apartment was broken into last night, and I want to have one to give to the police."

"My god, already! That's horrible. Tell me what you need." Carly thought Alex was cleverly circumspect.

"Do you have a picture you could drop off at my office downtown on Monday?"

"Yes. You'll have it. Good luck, Carly. Take care of yourself."

"I will, thanks again for everything."

Anna finally came to the phone, sounding sleepy, "Hi Carly, how's the apartment?"

"Well, you know I thought it was a lovely place." Carly thought she'd start with a compliment, "Great light and everything."

"Carly, that sounds past tense. What's wrong?"

"Umm...I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but someone broke in last night while I was out with a friend—the landowner from the dig—and trashed all my furniture. The place was a mess. My friend thinks that someone has a key, or has some kind of access to the place, so he's found me a place to stay and has helped me move my remaining stuff out of there. His lawyer is working to get me out of the lease."

"My god, Carly, I'm so sorry! I'd heard such good things about the place. My boyfriend knows a guy who lives on the first floor and loves it. I've never heard anything about problems like that."

Here was the gentle turn that Carly was trying to figure out, "Anna, don't worry. It's not your fault. You did so much for me and I really appreciate it, appreciate your putting together the crowd of people to help, and everything else."

"It was really nothing."

"It meant a lot to me, Anna." Carly tried to figure out how she was going to do this without hurting Anna unnecessarily. "In any case, I just wanted to connect with you today, because I'd be out of the apartment."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No, I'm good. I also wanted to call, because I probably won't be coming over to your house to hang out." Anna had given Carly an open invitation more than one time as they were moving her stuff.

"Why, Carly?"

She decided to nurse her scapegoat for all that she could. "Well, Greta's boyfriend, and I know you're close to her, started talking about 'V'-illicit vampire blood that people use like a drug."

"No. Really?" Anna sounded angry. "I didn't know he was into that."

Realizing she might have made a mistake in pitting Anna against her friends, Carly tried to backtrack. "Brian just asked me if I'd heard of it, but, I'll be honest with you. He makes me nervous, and I have to be really careful about who I associate with now that I'm working with the police so closely."

"So you can't be my friend, because he's my roommate's boyfriend"

"Well, if I hang out with you, I'd prefer to do it in a way there's no risk of his being involved." Carly knew from Anna's personality and from some of the things that she'd been thinking when they first met, that she liked people in pairs, liked to play matchmaker, liked parties and groups of people rather than individual friends. Carly hoped this threat of one-on-one friendship would be enough to cool the relationship and allow it to fade. Anna would have the opportunity to judge Carly harshly instead of believing she'd been judged.

"I understand." Anna sounded a little offended. "My schedule's kind of crazy too, but can I call you to have lunch some time?"

"That would be terrific. And I'm still interested in your boyfriend's show when he has one." Carly figured that Anna would appreciate the gesture.

"Well, if you don't want to associate with Brian, I doubt you'd like to associate with my boyfriend." Anna asserted.

Carly had already figured out, from the "friend" in the building, and the weird hours Anna was keeping, and her wan appearance, that she'd hooked up with a vampire. "You might be surprised, Anna. As long as he isn't a criminal, or talks regularly about drug trafficking, it shouldn't be a problem."

"Even if he's a vampire?" Anna sounded as if she was hoping to shock Carly.

Carly took pleasure in remaining composed. "I've learned recently that many respectable people are vampires."

"Well. Okay. Maybe we could do a double date? If you're spending time with this guy." Anna performed true to expectations.

"I still think lunch would be better, just to be safe." Carly also remembered that Eric had to make some kind of public declaration—which he'd left unexplained. _Maybe he has to put out an ad in _Vampire Daily. "But I'll ask Eric if he'd like to."

When Carly hung-up, she realized that Anna's boyfriend was still unnamed, while Carly had mentioned Eric—she hoped she hadn't made another mistake. She didn't say his last name, so everything would probably be okay.

Carly also thought she'd take a chance and call Sookie to fill her in on recent events and to try to make a date for Monday evening. Even though Carly had to start working, she hoped that Sookie would be willing to make the drive to Shreveport, although she had no idea how long it would take, or even if Sookie drove. Perhaps there was somewhere they could meet in the middle, she thought. _That might be a good idea. If she came here, she'd probably meet Eric, and I'd like to keep him from the other candy-coated telepath until I know exactly where we stand_. Even if Eric was from a culture that regularly practiced bigamy and concubinage, Carly wasn't and didn't intend to join one.

An elderly sounding woman answered the phone, with a very sweet, "Hello."

"May I speak to Sookie?"

She replied to Carly's query apologetically. "I'm sorry, dear. Sookie's at work tonight. Would this be Carly?"

"Yes, it is."

"Well, I'm pleased as punch to talk with you. I'm Adele Stackhouse, Sookie's grandmother."

"I'm so happy to talk with you, Mrs. Stackhouse. Sookie told me about you." Sookie had shared something, telepathically, about Adele, about the books they liked to share, and how Adele would sit and wait up for her, reading.

"Sookie's off, most of the time, on Sundays and Mondays. This week it's Monday and Tuesday, because Merlotte's is catering a family reunion for one of our big families in town. Sookie told me you start your new job Monday and might need some time to get situated. Could you come for dinner next Sunday? We usually eat about two?" Carly had never adjusted to the dinner versus supper distinction.

"I would love to. I can't think of anything I'd rather do next Sunday, Mrs. Stackhouse. It will be lovely to meet you."

"Sookie will be so happy when I tell her you called." Carly could tell that Adele was beaming on the other side of the line. "But you can give her a call Monday or Tuesday and she'll be here, or you could call her at Merlotte's—I can give you the number."

"I don't want to bother her at work. I'll call Monday afternoon or evening when I'm done at the lab."

Carly concluded the call with Adele and looked forward to the drive back to Bon Temps, especially looking forward to seeing it during the day and meeting the Stackhouse family.

Before she could begin another task, Carly heard a knock at the door. She looked outside, and it was still daylight—late in the day, but still light. When she looked through the curtain, she realized that the man on the other side had to be Jim Kelsey, not because she had seen him in Phyllis's mind, but because the man embodied every stereotype of the southern lawyer, from the slicked-back hair, to the snazzy cuff-links, and the shoes that could be used to flag down a plane if one shipwrecked on a desert-island.

As soon as the door was open, Jim opened his arms and said, "Carly, so good to meet you!" He gave her a half-embrace and kissed her on the cheek. Carly felt a short stab of emotion and thought, but all of it was surprisingly good: loyalty to Eric, uncontaminated by fear, love for his daughter, whom he missed terribly, and a sense of triumph at having gotten her out of her lease successfully.

"Jim, you too. You seem like you've got some good news for me. Please come in, even though it is your house, or Phyllis's," Carly gestured him toward the center of the main room.

"Yes, those legal details are so important to Mr. Northman, aren't they? Are you comfortable? Rest up this morning?" Jim winked, recalling Phyllis's similar gesture earlier in the day.

"With my surroundings, not entirely with my actions last night." Carly decided to try to make the best of it and get any discussion of the noise of last night out of the way.

"Well, I won't tease you any more, my dear, but you might want to move your trysts downstairs—away from my best bottles of course." Jim smiled again. "Now, to business." He sat down. "I've already faxed Eric all the title information I could find, and all the information about the holding corporation. But they readily and happily returned your deposit, the first and last month rent security, and..." Jim looked triumphant, "a small sum to compensate your losses." Jim handed the envelope to her with a grand flourish that told her he expected her to open it immediately.

Carly had paid $2,200 via wire transfer from her Memphis bank. She exclaimed after looking at the check, "Almost $18,000 is a small sum?"

Jim Kelsey laughed, "Since I expressed my general displeasure with their leasing practices, and said that I was going to report those practices to the housing board and their lawyers to the bar unless you were compensated sufficiently..."

Carly was incensed, "You blackmailed them?"

"Oh, no, Carly. I reported them before I left my office today. That is no where near sufficient compensation for what they did to you!"

"Did you tell them that before they wrote the check?"

"I wrote a strongly worded email," he chuckled, "right before I left."

Carly crossed her arms, uncomfortable with what he had done. "Did you say that you wouldn't take another check if they sent one?"

"Yes, because they only compensated you for what your furniture was worth, although I suspect you probably didn't know your Maison Jansen armchair was so valuable, since the upholstery that survived looked worn." Jim crossed his arms, almost in reply to Carly, "and you cut me off before I could say what else I asked for: I told them they would need to send me a copy of their public notice about the illegal clause and the new language for the leases they were going to rewrite before the end of the day. Instead, I got a fax that said, 'Our client refuses your demands.'"

"I feel better." Carly really did.

"Just because I look the part of a Louisiana lawyer doesn't mean I have the ethics of the worst of them, or of my opposition. I beat people fair and square."

"I'm probably too accustomed to New Jersey lawyers," Carly smiled, but she had a question. "Were you able to get any information about the residents of the complex?"

"Done and faxed to Mr. Northman. He wanted to have a sense of who was under his..."

Kelsey stopped talking suddenly.

"Yes?"

Kelsey was silent for a moment, "I apologize. I misspoke. He wanted to know who was under your apartment."

Carly didn't want to learn anything about Eric that he didn't tell her himself, so she refrained from looking into Kelsey's head. Kelsey looked out the window, clearly to check the state of the sun. "I guess you should start getting ready for his arrival. Sun's almost down."

He got up to leave and then walked toward the door, all the _joie de vivre_ drained out of him without explanation.

"Thank you for all you've done for me, Mr. Kelsey."

"Carly, please." The expansive southern gentleman returned, "Jim. Call me Jim."

"Of course, thank you, Jim, for all you've done, and for this lovely place to stay. I appreciate it tremendously."

He departed.

Carly decided that Jim probably had a pretty good sense of Eric, so she took a quick shower, picked out one of her nicer dresses, a deep-purple, sleeveless dress her mother had bought for her. Anna took the trouble to dry her hair and put on a little makeup. She wanted to look nice for Eric—he made her feel beautiful, and she wanted to match the way he made her feel.

And within the hour, Eric Northman arrived.

As soon as he was inside the door, he scooped her up and kissed her. Carly was willing to let him undo all her attempts to look nice if he wanted, but then she remembered her dream and knew they needed to talk.

"Eric, stop."

"Oh, Carly, why?" Eric whined, and stopped his foot, imitating a tantrum. "I want you."

"I need to tell you about the dream I had about you last night."

"That will be perfect foreplay." Eric kissed her again.

"No." Carly tried to wiggle herself out of his grip and back down onto the floor. "I think I dreamed of how you died and was made a vampire."

That stopped him, cold. "How could that be?" He put her down, smoothing her dress.

"I don't know. It must have been what happened between us last night, somehow."

Eric moved toward the sofa, holding Carly's hand the short distance and then wrapping his arm around her once they were on the sofa. "Tell me about it."

"I don't know if that's the best starting point. I can't think you would remember it terribly well. Can I ask if your maker's name is Godric?"

Eric shot up and walked to the window, and then paced around the room quickly. After about ten seconds of this frenetic movement, Eric came to sit back next to her and just stared at her. "How is this possible, Carly."

"So it's true?"

"Yes, my maker's name is Godric. What else did you see?" Eric seemed pained and frightened.

"I didn't see you, I saw through you, like one of the other dreams, but I didn't have any real knowledge of inside you, just what I could observe from your gestures or your movements. You were in a cold forest with two other men and you were ambushed. You fought with a sword and a hammer, but someone with a dagger stabbed you. Your friends built a funeral pyre and put you on it. When they started the fire, a small man ripped their heads off and jumped onto you and asked if you'd be Death's companion. Is that what happened?"

Eric spoke slowly. "That is exactly what happened." He rubbed his mouth and his chin. "What else did you experience."

"I think I felt when you came back to life, but I don't really understand where you were. You saw the man and asked what he was. He said he was a vampire and that his name was Godric."

"Did you suffer?"

Carly thought back to the dream. "I wanted out of it, but I didn't suffer. I didn't feel pain, just temperature, just weight. I felt powerful when you awoke, but that was it. Nothing hurt, and there was no emotional distress at all. I just felt like a witness."

There was silence between them, and Carly felt devastated. "Are you angry with me?"

Eric rushed to embrace her, "No. Not angry. Just ...concerned."

"Why?"

"Because I've done terrible things, Carly. Things I'd never want you to do, to see." Eric kissed her, and then whispered into her ear. "Things you'd hate me for. That I'd deserve your hatred for."

He cradled her hand in his hand, stroking the arc of her cheekbone with his thumb. "Have you ever had contact with a dead body, other than the bone, where you've dreamt of them?"

Carly thought back—she realized she'd never touched dead tissue other than bone. It had never occurred to her. She avoided blood and guts so much that she'd never tried.

"No. But I had your blood before, and I touched your skin before. I don't think it was your blood that gave me the dream." Carly kissed his neck, and then his ear. "Do you remember the last thing you said to me last night?"

"I told you to lock up."

"The last personal thing you told me."

Eric thought for a moment and shook his head. "Carly. That's ridiculous. You can't have dreamed your dream because I said, 'I wish I could share every moment with you.' That's crazy."

"I'm used to hearing myself described that way, so it didn't seem so nuts to me." Carly shook her head. "It's one possibility among three that I can see." She sat up straight. "Either what you said did something, or I've suddenly extended my abilities beyond what they were, or this 'bond' you talked about has given me some kind of access to your history."

Eric nodded. "Those seem to be the three possibilities."

"The only thing that we can do is to begin eliminating those possibilities in a rational way." If Carly could make a hypothesis, and test it, the problem was solvable. That level of certainty, of testable certainty, was what attracted her first to physical anthropology and then to forensic anthropology. "I don't want to be sucking blood out of vampires, so let's assume, for the moment, that the contact between us triggered the dream."

Eric stroked her leg, "I would have hoped for different dreams."

"Yes, of course." Carly thought for a moment. "Perhaps I did dream of you that way."

"That memorable?"

When Carly considered the last few months, she realized that she couldn't recall any of her own dreams, just the dreams she had of other people's lives. Then she pushed back farther into her memory, considering the last year that she worked in Memphis. "I don't think I remember my own dreams any more."

"Really?"

"I can't remember any for the last year. They've all been dreams from the bones." Carly tried to think of a practical explanation for this phenomenon. "Maybe my own dreams don't wake me up anymore? Maybe only the dreams triggered by something outside wake me so that I remember them."

"That would make sense." Eric asked, "How do we begin the tests? I refuse to let you fuck anyone else to see if that will trigger a dream."

Carly swatted him gently with the back of her hand. "No. Of course not. I've never done anything creepy with bones, so I wouldn't guess something creepy would start being necessary to trigger the dreams."

"Creepy?" Eric stuck out his lower lip. "Sex with me is..."

Before he could finish his sentence, Carly had said, "Shut up," straddled him and kissed him.

When she came up for air, she remembered with enthusiasm, "You told me I would meet Pam tonight."

"I'm doing terribly with this. First you don't dream of me, then I'm creepy, and now you're thinking of Pam when you kiss me."

"Stop whining, Eric!" Carly thought about tickling him to see what would happen. "She's just like you. If I touch her, maybe even hold her hand for a while, maybe I'll dream of how she was made."

Eric shifted Carly into a kneeling position next to him. "Carly, you have to understand, Pam isn't really a 'cuddly' person. She's sharp, a little acerbic. When I asked her to meet us tonight, she wasn't particularly happy about it. I don't know how she'll feel about having you hold onto her for...how long do you hold onto bones?"

"The shortest...whatever...session...touch was, maybe, fifteen or twenty seconds." Carly described the episode to Eric. She'd been in a class that was going through the archaic bone collection at UNM, bones that were supposed to be from Clovis peoples from southern New Mexico and Central America. The class passed around a skull while the professor talked about one of the features that characterized New World skulls that they should be looking for. That night, Carly had dreamed that woman's death. The woman had been labor, in an excruciating childbirth that ended when her husband beat her to death. Carly hadn't seen the baby, but she could only presume that it had some kind of defect or was born dead. She asked to see the skeleton and was able to affirm that the woman had only one pregnancy and exhibited much bone loss characteristic of having died before recovering from the experience.

"Perhaps. Perhaps we can figure out some way to get that much time." Eric seemed doubtful that the saucy vampire would tolerate to that much contact with Carly. "But I don't know how you could get Pam to let you hold her head for fifteen seconds."

"It doesn't have to be her skull. It works with any bone, so I'd guess it would work with any part of a body."

Eric leaned back. "You don't need the skulls to access their lives?"

"Nope. Just a bone."

Eric looked at her, and, for once, she wished she knew what he was thinking about.

"Pam's vain and loves pretty things-jewelry, clothes, shoes."

"Would she let me give her something?" Carly asked.

"I've never seen her say no to a gift."

Carly jumped up and ran over to a box labeled "bedroom" and ripped it open. Inside was her main jewelry box. She kept everything she had that was really expensive—really valuable things she'd inherited from her grandparents—with her mother. But she had a few things that were unusual and beautiful that she kept with her. She'd only worn it a couple of times, but she had a lovely velvet, lace, and platinum choker with a huge amethyst that sat right over the throat. Carly knew that it was probably valuable as well, but it didn't have any really precious stones, and just a few chains of fine platinum, and it was very ornate, so it looked more like costume jewelry than fine jewelry. She brought it over to Eric.

"Do you think she'd like this?"

Eric laughed. "I think you're lying to me, Carly."

"What?" She was hurt.

"I think you can read my mind. She'd love this."

"Any vain 100 year old woman who loves jewelry and clothes would." Carly smiled, but thought she'd save discussion of how her telepathy had changed until another conversation.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N Thank you for the reviews! I own nothing having to do with True Blood or the SVM. I should probably mention, however, that Carly's my idea.

Chapter Fifteen

"So where are we meeting Pam," Carly asked.

Eric was driving more sedately tonight, "At the club. She wanted to go over some ideas for the stage, so I thought we could introduce you two there. It's also a pretty open space, so there's plenty of room for her to throw a tantrum if she does."

"Really," Carly was frightened. "You think she might hate me that much?"

"She won't hate you." Eric's denial was unconvincing. "She's just not accustomed to my having women around for any length of time."

Carly knew that Eric could have any woman he wanted: she'd already encountered a desk clerk and a married woman who thought that throwing oneself at Eric Northman's feet wasn't an irrational response. She knew he could glamour most women into doing almost anything. And she had cast aside twenty-six years of solitude and virginity after knowing him for three days. These thoughts renewed Carly's certainty that she'd wind up heartbroken. She would just have to enjoy all of this while it lasted and hope that it would transform her for the better and not for the worse.

Her silence must have made Eric concerned. "But you're mine now, Carly. She needs to get used to you."

Carly had waited for an opening to discuss the nature of his claim to her. "Did you put out the ad, or file the deed, or do whatever you needed to make your claim on me official?"

"Yes," Eric smiled indulgently. "There's no ad. I just had to notify...authorities...in the vampire world."

"Authorities..."

"Yes." Eric reminded Carly, "You described us as a 'low-population hierarchy,' I believe."

"And I gather from Mr. Kelsey that you..."

Eric turned to look at her, "What did he say?"

Carly needed to assure Eric that Kelsey hadn't said anything incriminating or indiscreet. "He didn't say anything. It was what he almost said and then didn't."

"Tell me what he said, Carly." Eric radiated determination.

"He didn't say anything. His tone, and his reticence, and some of his phrasing suggested, just suggested, that you have some obligations within this hierarchy. I'm assuming all this. He didn't say anything." Carly felt she needed to protect Kelsey from Eric's anger.

"You haven't told me, yet what you assumed."

"When we were talking about the information he'd gathered for you, about the Lofts, he said that you wanted to know who the residents were because you wanted to know 'who was under your,' and then he cut himself off." Carly looked at Eric, imploring him to hear her out. "Then he said he misspoke, and that he meant who was under my apartment."

Eric seemed to understand. "Okay. So he didn't say anything specifically about me."

"No, he didn't," Carly assured.

"So if he'd said this to someone else, not to you, nothing would have come from it," Eric clarified.

"Yes. I'm sure."

"But you, Carly Michael," Eric smiled, "Anthropologist and telepath..."

"I didn't poke around in his head at all, Eric. I want everything I know about you to be something you've told me." Carly was adamant about this and rested her hand on his to emphasize the point.

"I believe you." Eric kept smiling. "But I'm guessing you've figured out what he was likely going to say."

Carly waited for a second. "I think he was going to say 'jurisdiction.'" Carly waited for Eric to respond, and he didn't. "Are you some kind of...law enforcer...or representative...or sheriff?"

Eric laughed, "Yes. But please keep it to yourself, Carly? Humans assume that Vampires have folded themselves into their social structures, but that's really the furthest thing from the truth."

"If they believe that, they're idiots." Carly looked out the window at the passing buildings. "How would you have coordinated a multi-continent press conference without some kind of social structure? How would you have acquired all this wealth without a network of lawyers and representatives? You probably even pay taxes."

"You really should write that book," Eric said, "as soon as they'll let you."

Carly giggled, "Yes, I see it now, Dr. Carly Michael, Chair of Vampire Studies."

"Indeed."

"To bad I really hate academia. I just want to help people find one another, really."

"That's better than vampire studies." Eric squeezed her hand. "If it makes you feel better, everyone seems quite impressed at how well-educated you are. I had to include a picture—they weren't terribly impressed since it was from the dig, but I told them they should just wait until they saw you socially, you'd shine in a beautiful dress."

"Thanks, I guess. Maybe Pam needs to give me a makeover."

When they pulled into Fangtasia's employee parking lot, Eric leaned over, kissed her, and said, "I don't think so. You're most beautiful naked."

"Stop." Carly was still adjusting to this intimacy with Eric, and it embarrassed her.

"Never."

Once inside Fangtasia, Carly could tell that there'd been a lot of work done in just twenty-four hours. The fore-stage was gone, and the sub-floor was exposed. Samples of pre-varnished hardwood of varying colors, textures, and shapes leaned against the wall.

A woman, about Carly's height, but wearing impossibly high heels and a powder blue Chanel suit, paced back and forth in front of the samples, rearranging them, perhaps to suggest some order. She suddenly straightened up and pivoted to look at Eric and Carly. "Well, well, well. Eric, you weren't lying at all. She's delicious."

"And mine, Pam."

"You're so selfish, Maker."

"And you're impudent."

Pam smiled, "Always, and that's why you made me."

"One reason" Eric smiled back at her. "Pam this is Carly Michael. She is mine."

"So you said," Pam nodded politely, but without enthusiasm.

"Hello." Carly turned to Eric. "What should I do? Do I extend hands, bow, nod, bare my teeth? What's the practice?"

"Nodding is fine. Vampires don't shake hands."

Carly nodded. "Makes sense. You're always armed. Why bother suggesting otherwise."

Pam lifted an eyebrow. "She is clever, isn't she."

"Yes, clever, beautiful, and quite talented. You should see her portraits."

Carly had a sudden inspiration. "I should paint the two of you. A family portrait! You could hang it in the bar."

Eric looked at her, and then looked at Pam, "What do you think, Pam?"

"That could be nice, although I'd have to be wearing something really good."

"Yes," Eric said, "And preferably something hat our customers would expect a vampire to wear. No fluffy twin-sets or Chanel suits."

Carly agreed, "I could illuminate the painting in low light, casting one side in shadow, and you could wear red." The inspiration continued and she looked at Eric, "And my present for you would be perfect."

Pam perked up, "Present? You brought me a present?"

"Yes." Carly smiled and fished the choker out of her purse. "It's got a difficult clasp, so it might be easier if I put it on you." Carly looked at Pam's long, beautifully manicured nails. "Your nails might get in the way. Do you have a mirror somewhere?"

"In the ladies bathroom, it's all we have in there right now," Eric suggested.

"Do you want to put it on?" Carly unfurled the choker.

Pam gleamed with avarice, "Oh yes, I'd love to."

The three of them entered the bathroom that was midway through its remodeling.

Pam stood in front of the mirror, and Carly stood behind her.

"Pam, with those shoes you're about three inches taller than me. Can you bend your knees or take off your heels?"

Eagerly, Pam said, "Sure," and kicked off the shoes, bending at the knees so Carly could get a good view of her neck. Pam lifted up her hair, and Carly swung the necklace around.

Carly rested her hand on the back of Pam's neck and struggled, somewhat falsely, with the clasp, maintaining contact with Pam's skin as long as possible. After about thirty seconds, Carly fastened the clasp and adjusted the choker to center it. Then she rested both hands on Pam's shoulders.

Pam tolerated the contact easily while she admired herself in the mirror. Once she was satisfied, however, she grew visibly uncomfortable. "Eric said you were his, so you better let go of me before I decided he lied."

The three went back into the club, and Pam enumerated all her ideas. She wanted to keep the main stage 'as is', but thought they should station Eric most nights on a throne-like chair so he could loom over the audience. "You should be a king, Eric, why shouldn't you act that way?"

"I don't want to be a king, Pamela."

"Well, you look like one, and as I see it, you're this bar's greatest asset."

Eric shook his head, "So you want me on display, like in a zoo," he grunted. "I want a bar, not a cage."

Pam smiled, "We can put a dance platform right in front of you, with a pole, and get some sexy dancers who'd keep you entertained."

Eric cleared his throat.

"Don't worry," Carly placated. "She's thinking about the aesthetic." Carly lied, but thought she would try to appease Pam in the hope of getting a little more physical contact. She already had doubts about their experimental method, since she'd already touched Eric, and would likely do more with him when he took her home. The sample was already contaminated. If she dreamy at all, it could be either of them if touch was the trigger. And if it was, then perhaps her relationship with Eric would be too much for her to cope with. As he said, he'd done things that would make her hate him.

The next few hours passed comfortably. Eric and Pam bickered like a couple who'd been married for a hundred years, but still seemed to enjoy each other's company, and enjoy hers as well. Carly knew that Eric was right. There was no way that she would be able to understand the intensity of the maker-progeny relationship, even if she had a sense of the mechanism of reproduction. The progeny must die, and then be resurrected by the maker somehow, probably through a blood-seeding of some sort. The scientist in her kept wanting a sample of vampire blood to put under a microscope. She'd begun to spin all sorts of theories, including the idea that the blood was some other organism that managed to keep the human body from decay. That the body was just a host, which wasn't terribly far from the "viral" theory. Although if the virus idea was true, she already had it in her. She wondered if that meant she would rise up as an old wizened vampire once she died.

Then she remembered how much she hated the most recent set of Star Wars movies with their midichlorians, and cast aside the idea of symbiotic organisms out of spite. Lucas had ruined a beautiful mythology by mechanizing it. For now, Carly would submerge herself in the magic of vampires and leave the science to someone else.

About one o'clock in the morning, Carly yawned reflexively-she wasn't even that tired-and Eric took the opportunity to make an exit. Carly hadn't forgotten the portrait.

"When will you two sit for me? I'm not used to having models—so we might have to try a couple of different ways for me to get it right."

"Pam," Eric asked. "Are you free tomorrow night?"

"Only about an hour or two." Pam smirked, "I have a new friend too, Eric."

"Fine. Pick me up at dark and we'll go to Carly's house."

Carly shook at the realization of what that meant. Tomorrow was Saturday night. He was planning to stay.

On the drive home, Carly opened the conversation about the change in her abilities. "Eric, there seem to be a few changes in the way that I can read people and hear them since last night."

"Really?"

"Yes. I tried it with Phyllis," Carly paused to get the right words. "And after a few seconds, I knew everything about her."

"I can't believe there's that much to know." Eric smiled.

"That's not nice." Carly scolded him. "She thinks the world of you."

"I wasn't trying to be mean. She's just a very straight-forward woman."

Carly needed to remember that a thousand years of experience had probably eliminated much of Eric's need to molly-coddle people. "Okay. You're right."

"So that hasn't been the way it was before?"

"No. Before I've only been able to access what they were thinking at that moment, not everything about them. It was almost like I could pick and choose from anything in Phyllis's mind, follow any thought." Carly seemed to get a sense of what that meant as she described it to Eric. "At the same time, no one's thoughts imposed themselves on me. They were silent until I wanted otherwise."

"That's a boon as well."

"Yes. It is." Carly looked across the car at him. "I wonder if that's from you."

"Perhaps, although I can't read minds." Eric grinned endearingly at her, "I just make excellent guesses."

She changed the subject. "Did your workmen tell you about the state of the apartment?"

Eric's tone changed entirely, and he seemed to simmer on the edge of anger. "Yes, they did. I'm glad we got you out of there."

"Me too."

"Carly," Eric said quietly. "Four vampires live in that building. Two of them are recent arrivals whom I don't know well. I still don't understand why your friend would put you there."

"She's dating one of them, or at least one of their friends."

"Really? That's troubling."

"Why?" Carly wondered at his judgment. "I'm dating you, aren't I?"

"If this is what dating is." Eric smiled. "You're mine. Did she say she belonged to him?"

"No, but I don't know many women who would say that when talking about the men in their lives."

"Did she tell you his name?"

"No. Does that mean something?" Carly was still trying to figure out the rules of vampire-human involvement.

"Yes. He's likely fed from her, but he hasn't claimed her. If she were his, she could volunteer his name."

"So that was why I was able to call you Eric?" Carly remembered the conversation with Anna.

"Did you tell her I was a vampire?" Eric didn't sound worried.

"No. Just that you were the landowner from Sweden."

"Yes, you were able to say my name because we are bonded, but you shouldn't tell people I'm a vampire, for your own safety."

"I understand." Carly assumed that she could face some discrimination or threats of violence from people who weren't happy about the presence of vampires in human society.

"We'll assume he's just feeding from her and fucking her, and work from there. Perhaps she's feeding multiple vampires. But I'm troubled that a young woman is procuring her friends."

Carly was more startled by the second idea, that she'd been offered up as a meal, than she was by Eric's blunt assessment of Anna's relationship.

When they got back to the guesthouse, Anna realized that Eric hadn't touched her since they'd been at Fangtasia.

He asked, "What would you like to do? Watch TV? Or do you want to go straight to sleep?"

"Our experiment?" Carly asked.

"It would seem foolish, as much as I want to, to enjoy your body tonight. I don't know how many necklaces you want to give Pam." Eric smiled at Carly.

"I don't want to say goodnight to you yet, Eric." Carly still wanted to talk more with him, learn more about vampire society, about what his place in it was. Most of all, she just wanted to look at him and feel him there.

"Then we'll watch the news. I've kept you away from world events, I suspect." With a short chuckle, Eric turned on CNN.

The commentator reported a plane evacuation and the reports of a few convictions. The news seemed fairly uninteresting and had little relevance to her, but then Carly noticed the crawler across the bottom of the screen, "Two Shreveport, LA, students killed in brutal bludgeoning death."

"Eric, is there a local station you can put it on?" Carly wanted to get to know her new city, although she hated that she was getting to know it through violence.

A news reporter was in mid-sentence when Eric changed the channel, but a prominent "Breaking News" logo flashed across the bottom of the screen. "...authorities still have not reported a motive for the murders or attempted suicide. Once again, two art students, identified as Greta Henley and Brian Smith, were bludgeoned to death earlier tonight, allegedly by their roommate, Anna Jacobs. Ms. Jacobs, according to reports, allegedly tried to stab herself in the belly. Neighbors heard the attack and called the police when the attacks began, so paramedics were able to transport Ms. Jacobs to the hospital, where she remains in critical, but stable, condition."

"Oh, my god, Eric." Carly started to cry.

"I assume this Anna is your real estate proxy."

"This is my fault, Eric."

"How? Did you ask her to do it?"

"No, but I told her about how Brian asked me what I knew about 'V'." Carly shook her head violently. "But, my god, I thought she'd just be angry with him."

"I think that's a safe assumption, darling." Eric embraced her, carefully avoiding bare skin. "But this isn't you fault. It can't be. Did she seem as if she'd be violent, ever?"

"No. She lived to bring people together. She wasn't even that strong, she was so pale. She seemed fragile." Carly couldn't process what had happened. "They all were. They were all skinny and pale, sickly."

"Then, I'm going to assume she had help...or motivation." Eric tried to soothe her. "You had nothing to do with it."

"I have to call the police." Carly implored Eric.

"No. Let others talk to the police. What are you going to tell them? That you saw into her soul and know she wasn't capable of this?" Eric reasoned with her.

"You're right." Carly remembered Alex with grief. "Oh, poor Alex."

"The other roommate?" Eric asked.

"Yes." Carly hoped that he wouldn't have to see the aftermath of the violence. Bludgeoning deaths were the messiest of almost all violent deaths, at least coroners and crime scene investigators she'd talked to seemed to think so. "I guess he'll be able to talk to the police."

"Yes, he will." Eric held her close to his chest. "You need to sleep."

"I don't think I can."

"I'll hold you."

Carly changed into a long-sleeved set of pajamas and rested her head on Eric's chest. The humming of his mind, constant and deep, sent her to sleep.

She dreamed she was at the edge of a hot pool and had to jump in because someone was chasing her. The only way she could save herself was to jump in and swim. She tried to swim, but it wasn't water, but blood, thick, viscous blood that swallowed her up and weighted her down. She tasted it, and felt it in her eyes and nose. She couldn't breathe, she was drowning, trying to cry out...

"Carly, wake up!" Eric shook her.

"What?" Carly was disoriented and coughing for air, even though nothing blocked her nose or mouth.

"Are you okay?" With a sound of disbelief in his voice, "Were you dreaming of Pam?"

"No." Carly tried to get her bearings and remember the dream that was quickly fading away into oblivion. "No, I was in a pool full of blood. Someone was after me, and I had to swim, but I was drowning."

"That sounds horrible." Eric brought her close to him and stroked her shoulder blades, comforting her. "You're safe, you're with me. Close your eyes."

"You'll take care of me?" Carly sighed, somewhere between a question and a statement.

"I'll take care of you. You're safe with me. Just close your eyes and dream of Pam's making." Eric's grip on her lessened somewhat, and Carly slipped back into sleep.

She was naked, on a narrow, lumpy bed, but a man's body lay behind her, his strong legs between her own, levering them open further. She felt a wet length against her opening, and then felt herself penetrated. It felt familiar, then she heard a voice. "What is it like?"

"To be inside you?" It was Eric who spoke.

"No," the voice was light, Midwestern, "to be a vampire. To be young forever."

"Lonely."

She wrestled herself out of his embrace and turned to look at him. It was Eric, his hair cut short, pomaded, but now broken into clumps.

"Then make me a vampire." Her voice begged him.

"No." He turned away from her and sat up, pulling on his pants. "You don't know what you're asking. A maker's commitment is eternal. He never abandons his progeny. A good maker doesn't make that commitment on a whim for some woman he just met."

"For some whore? Is that what you're saying? You don't know what it's like, to age, to know you're going to die, from disease, eaten away from the inside because of what someone's given you, or bleeding to death to get some bastard out of you." She got out of bed.

"No, that's not what I mean." Eric's voice was angry, pleading, the same tenderness and protectiveness in it that Carly already knew. "It's just not something..."

She felt the cold handle of a razor in her hand, and felt blood stream down her arms. "You have a choice. You let me die, or you make me a vampire. It's better to die right now than wait, when I know what's ahead of me if I keep living, or what would be ahead of me if you made me a vampire."

She saw Eric stand and rush up to her, "Is this what you want?"

She heard the whisper, "Yes."

A moment in his arms, and then blackness. And then she felt herself in his arms again, he was rubbing a wet cloth against her face. She felt alive and on fire.

"Are you awake, my child?"

"Yes."

"Then you are my progeny, Pamela. I am your maker. You are a vampire."

Carly awoke, and Eric was looking at her.

"Yes?"

"She slit her wrists in front of you, and you made her a vampire."

"Yes." Eric kissed her.

"How long til dawn?"

"About two hours. Why?"

"Ask me to dream about a moment in Pam's life or in your life."

"Dream of how I came to Shreveport."

"Okay. Help me go to sleep again."

Eric cradled her in his arms, stroking her back lightly, until she slipped back into dreaming.

She was on Bourbon street. She recognized the familiar smells of creole food and sounds of jazz, but recognized the clothes of the late fifties or early sixties. She walked into a club where a group of black musicians played. Arrows directed customer to "colored" and "white" sections, at the back and front of the club, respectively. She saw a portly gentleman in a white suit summoning her. She sat down.

"Mr. Northman. I have the contract Mr. Cataliades drafted. All it needs is your signature, and the Shreveport lumber yard is yours."

She awoke. "Eric, you bought the Shreveport lumber yard."

"Yes." He held her tightly. "Do we have a theory?"

"I think I touch a vampire, but then you ask me to dream about it."

Eric kissed the top of her head. "I think this will be a powerful asset, Carly."

She pushed herself up and looked at him. "For you, or for me?"

"For us." Eric leaned in to kiss her, and then made love to her gently. She was asleep when he left for the day.


	16. Chapter 16

A/N I don't own anything having to do with True Blood or SVM. Thank you all for the reviews and I hope you continue to enjoy the story!

Chapter 16

Saturday morning's light refracted through the guest house windows and woke Carly from her slumber. She tried to estimate how much sleep she'd had, or at least how much sleep she's had as herself, and estimated it couldn't have been more than four or five hours . No matter how much she enjoyed being with Eric, Carly knew that keeping these hours would begin taking a toll on her concentration and on the quality of her work. _We have to talk about how I'm going to manage our relationship._

Carly felt as if her new home was comfortable, but she needed to replace the elaborate easel that she assumed was among the broken furniture. The idea that her precious, well-worn easel was nothing but kindling grieved her, but it was just wood and was replaceable. She might even be able to get one in Shreveport. If not, her mother might be able to have one shipped to her. Carly's mother also had no idea about her changed living arrangements or her new phone number. If past practice was any indicator, Edna was sitting on her verandah enjoying coffee and gossip with Abdullah, so Carly could call her and let her know all that had happened since their last conversation. It had also occurred to her that Abdullah might have a contact who was familiar with vampire artists in Shreveport.

Edna answered the phone half laughing. "Hello Carly!"

"Hi, mom. How are you? You sound happy."

"Oh, yes, Abdullah was just telling me the funniest story about an artist he met last night. How are you?"

"I'm good, but I've got to share some news, most of it pretty bad, but I'm okay. Just trying to process all of it."

"That sounds ominous, Carly."

Carly explained Eric's reaction to her apartment, deciding that Edna and Abdul could benefit from knowledge about the offer and abrogation of invitations to vampires. Carly reported Mr. Kelsey's generosity in offering his guest house and his success in freeing her from her lease. "If you told me how much that chair was worth, mom, I wouldn't have dragged it all over the country." Carly still reeled from the $18,000 compensation.

Edna replied, "Carly, would the $18,000 have meant more to you? You had that chair in your room your entire life."

Carly hadn't really accepted what its loss represented. It was just a chair and the relationship between people and things was transitory, but it had been the site of so many important moments in her life. She'd shed tears for her dead father, learned to read, cuddled with her mother. All of that was gone, but that life was gone as well. Her involvement with Eric transformed her and opened up the possibility of a new kind of life, a life filled with intimacy and affection.

"No," Carly accepted Edna's assessment. "You're right. I would have spent it like any other money. Nothing about it would have been special."

"It sounds as if everything turned out for the best. I'm relieved to think of you living near a family, and appreciative of Mr. Northman's instincts. He sent Abdullah an email accepting the invitation, although he did say he needed to confirm your availability. Are you going to come to the show?"

"Eric's right. I really don't have any idea of my schedule quite yet. You said it was at the end of September?"

Edna assented. "Yes, and then it will run through October 31. Abdullah's planning a Halloween Ball to end the show. Doesn't that sound like fun?"

"I don't have to come for that, right?" Carly thought her mother had really gone off the "Cheerleader Planning the Prom" deep end.

"No."

Carly was relieved. "I need to tell you something else, and this is pretty horrible. Do you remember Anna? The woman who found the apartment for me? Who had my car all summer?"

"Of course. You said she'd been a great deal of help."

"Yes." Carly took a deep breath and tried to choose the most graceful way of disclosing her horrific news. "She was arrested last night. The police think she murdered one of her roommates and her roommate's boyfriend."

"Oh dear lord. Carly, that's terrible." Edna repeated the news to Abdullah, whose exclamations were audible on the other side of the line. "Sweetheart, did you have any idea that this was...I don't know...in her?"

"No, mom. She seemed intent on bringing people together. She was generous, almost to a fault." Carly remembered her conversation from the day before. "I talked to her yesterday and tried to cool off the relationship—I really didn't want to hang out with her after the apartment was wrecked."

"Perfectly reasonable, sweetheart."

"One thing that bothers me, though," a sense of responsibility still lingered, "is that I told her that I didn't want to spend time around Brian, Greta's boyfriend. I told her that he'd asked me if I knew about 'V'."

"My god, Carly, the vampire drug?"

"Yeah. Eric said it was blood." Carly had no idea about the extent of its use. "What do you know about it, mom?"

"There's a lot of interest in it, and the DEA is having trouble fining a way to make it illegal, since it isn't really a drug. But a few people taking it have killed themselves, or someone else, a few have been institutionalized. It seems to have really unpredictable effects."

"It's awful, mom, because Anna also told me that she was dating a vampire, but she didn't tell me his name. Eric says that means their relationship wasn't ...recognized...or serious...because she couldn't or wouldn't tell me his name." Carly realized she'd probably said too much.

"So does that mean, Carly darling, that your relationship is 'recognized' and 'serious?"

Carly knew her mother was fishing, because there was nothing that she could know already, but Carly decided there was no reason to lie to her mother about her romantic life. "Apparently, since you already know his name, my saying his name wouldn't tell you anything. But, yes, my relationship with him is serious."

"Jean-Jacques said so." Edna laughed. "I suppose I just have to resign myself to getting information about your romance with Eric Northman second-hand."

"Oh mom, I'm sorry. There just hasn't been that much time. It's all so new, and there's been so much chaos."

"Don't worry, dear." A distance rang through Edna's voice. "I certainly didn't say anything about your father for a very long time."

More silence, until Carly heard Abdullah's voice. "My friend, don't cry."

"I'm so sorry, mom. Don't cry."

"I just miss him so much. Even all these years later." Edna rallied. "He was such an extraordinary creature."

"I know, mom."

After the weight of grief evaporated, Carly asked to speak to Abdullah about the "vampire artist boyfriend."

"Are you working with any Louisiana vampires for your show, Abdullah?"

"One, but he works out of New Orleans, not Shreveport." Abdullah paused. "To be honest, Carly, I don't feel that I know him well. His art was highly recommended by one of my other contacts, and two of my New York artists are very enthusiastic. I don't like it. Vulgar, you know. But it conforms to expectations about vampires."

"What's his name, Abdullah?"

"Edgar Martin. I can send you a few photos, yes? He just sent me another piece, which I loathe, but still anticipate will sell high."

"Why?" Carly had tremendous faith in Abdullah's taste, as well as his understanding of the taste of the time.

"Oh, Carly, it's so bloody. Just all blood. It's vicious and violent. I hate it."

"Even so, Abdullah, send me a picture of it."

He promised to send the pictures to her express—he'd see if he could get them to her by Monday. So she said goodbye to both of them.

The recollection of 'pictures' and 'Monday' turned her stomach. Alex was supposed to bring her a picture of Brian on Monday. Now, he and Greta were dead; there would be no reason to put up his picture at Fangtasia. Whatever threat he was to vampire safety was now completely neutralized. If Alex had spent the night as Carly suspected, either crying hysterically mourning the loss of his roommate, even if he wasn't crazy about her boyfriend, or being interviewed by the police, he'd be a wreck, and she shouldn't call him. Perhaps Jethro could let Alex know that she was thinking of him, so Carly decided to call him instead.

"Jethro?"

His voice sounded thin and tired. "Yes, who is this?"

"Carly Michael. You helped me the other day when I moved?"

"Oh, Carly. Hi. I'm sorry if I was short. News folks got my number somewhere, so I've been hanging up on people left and right this morning."

"I'm so sorry, Jethro. How's Alex?"

Jethro breathed in audibly and let out the breath, blowing into the phone. "Good as can be expected, I guess. The police detective—real nice guy—got a doctor to prescribe him just a couple of sleeping pills for the next few nights. He's staying here until his momma comes out from Alabama." Tired, Jethro slipped more vernacular usage.

"I'm just glad he's okay."

"He's fine physically. But he's confused and feels guilty. He ate dinner with Greta and Brian, because Anna was out. The three of them ordered pizza. But then Anna called him and said her car had died out by Barksdale Air Force base, on the far side. And—you know she's done so many kind things for us over the last couple of years—Alex took his truck out there to get her, or give her a jump, or whatever, and couldn't find her. She didn't answer her cellphone. So he drove around a little while to look for her, checked with the gate guard, and then came home. The whole place was all lit up with police, and they wouldn't let him in. They said it would be too upsetting."

Carly winced, thinking about how the place would likely look. "They were right. Neither of you should go in there." She couldn't believe she was about to volunteer, but she knew she could do it more easily than either of these gentle souls. "I can get his stuff when they give him the all clear."

"That's nice of you, Carly, but his momma said there was these people that clean up murder scenes." Jethro started crying. "It's just so terrible. Greta was really a sweet girl, and Brian, I didn't like him, but nobody deserves a hammer in the head."

Carly cringed as Jethro's sobs got jagged and his voice cracked. "And how could gentle, generous little Anna do anything like that? She couldn't have done that. And then..." Jethro nearly wailed, "and then to go and do that. To stab herself like that. It just doesn't...make any sense at all."

"Oh, Jethro. I'm so sorry to call and make you so upset." Carly felt genuinely penitent. She'd intruded and exacerbated the situation, inflaming his nascent grief while he was still exhausted and worried about his beloved. "If there is anything, anything at all I can do for you or Alex, call me right away."

"I will, Carly. Thank you so much." Jethro gathered himself together.

"Before I let you go, Jethro," Carly took the risk to ask, "did the police say anything about Anna's boyfriend?"

"Carly, I overheard what she said about 'having a new man in her life' when she was talking to you in the kitchen," Jethro paused, "but that was the first I heard about it. She never brought anyone new around or said anything to Alex or me. Maybe Greta and Brian knew..." he trailed off and caught his breath loudly.

"I'm sorry."

"God works in mysterious ways, Carly."

"People do too, Jethro."

After showering and dressing, Carly decided she needed to get to know her new town, figure out where everything was, and find a Waffle House. She'd craved the greasy, crunchy goodness of a waffle with everything—eggs, bacon, and lots of bad coffee. Breakfast would also give her a chance to read the paper and get a sense of what Shreveport folks were thinking about these two recent horrific crimes.

Carly grabbed her camera—she might as well take some photos to send to her mom—and drove toward the interstate until she saw a the familiar yellow sign. She grabbed copies of the _Shreveport Times_ and the _Bossier Press Tribune_ from machines, walked in, and took a place at the counter, where there was one spot left in the crowded diner. As with Phyllis and Beau, the crowd was quiet to her until she sought out their minds. She opened herself to the group as a whole while she, unnecessarily, perused the menu.

_World's goin' to hell. _

_ Gotta get those kids back into church. That girl been church-goin', she wouldna hammered her friends to death._

_ Wish these assholes tipped better._

_ That Rev. Newlin got it right—them vampires are demons, Nan Flanagan's the anti-Christ, Whore of Babylon_

_ Where's my coffee?_

Among all these people, only one thought of Anna, and her friends. The rest teetered on the edge of religious fanatacism or swam in the abyss of the trivial, worrying about their waitress, their neighbors' kids, their jobs. One waitress seemed to be attracting more attention than another.

_What makes a good girl get involved with people like that?_

_ Just makes me sick._

"Mornin', hon, what can I get you?" A short, pudgy waitress with hair the color of dirty straw stood before Carly with a coffee pot.

"A cup of that," Carly pointed at the pot. "And a waffle, eggs over medium, and bacon. Glass of orange juice too." Carly looked up at the waitress's face to see if she could figure out why her friends were so concerned about her.

The girl—Carly knew right away that her name was Judy and that she lived with her grandmother—smiled weakly. "Can I get you anything else?"

Carly thought, _Just an explanation_. "No. That should do, enough for two or three people, really, but I'm hungry."

Nothing. Nothing else. The girl was a blank, yet half a dozen customers and other staff were disgusted with her, worried for her safety. Carly focused on the staff who had the most visceral reaction to Judy and tried to access their thoughts. _Girl getting naked for money. Just disgusting. _Suddenly, Carly saw, clearly, Judy standing behind the counter, talking with another young woman, dark hair, slight—Anna. Anna had known this girl and gotten her to pose for someone, naked.

Carly examined the front page of the Shreveport newspaper, which portrayed the victims and the alleged perpetrator of the bludgeoning crime. Greta and Brian smiled out at Carly from a color picture, taken probably a few years ago. Brian's ears were pierced, but normal-sized, and the two of them looked happy, healthy, young, and in love. Anna's unsmiling driver's license photo sat next to it. Now, Carly saw Anna, in her mind, talking to this ordinary-looking waitress who now repulsed her friends and concerned her customers.

When Judy returned with breakfast, Carly tapped the photos of the young dead couple and the alleged murderer, paying close attention to Judy's mind, gauging her reaction to what should be a familiar face. "Isn't this sad," Carly prompted.

"Yeah. Poor kids. Not much older than me. It's a shame. Enjoy your breakfast."

No spark of recognition passed through Judy's mind. It was as if her eyes refused to see the picture of Anna, refused to acknowledge her connection. Wondering at the blankness, Carly ate her breakfast, periodically taking the psychological temperature of the staff. They were cool with her. The customer who was so sickened by Judy's involvement with Anna—and an artist—only knew the story from gossip shared by a fellow waitress. Carly could see the gossiping waitress in the customer's head, but she wasn't working at that moment. Carly accessed the other waitresses, and found the same story, although one had a very clear recollection of the conversation where she learned that Judy had modeled.

_Girl came right in and asked Judy if she wanted to make $100 quick. All she had to do was take off her clothes and get some pictures taken. Then Judy come back in here next Monday and deny up and down that ever happen. One thing if a girl gonna drop her drawers for money, another if she gonna up and lie about it when I seen it with my own two eyes._

Carly got out the small sketchbook she kept in her purse and quickly rendered Judy and her general shape, just to keep her in memory.

"Want a refill?" Judy turned her head to admire the sketch. "You drawing a picture of me?"

"Yes, just to practice. I'm an artist." Carly held back the context in which she did art.

"You're good."

Carly took advantage of the opening, "Have you ever posed for an artist?"

Judy giggled, "Oh, no, I've never done anything like that. I'm not pretty or nothing."

The clucking of displeasure and judgment issuing from the other corner of the kitchen/serving area was audible, Carly thought, and when Judy turned toward it, the other waitresses turned their backs on her.

"I don't know why they been so mad at me lately." Judy shook her head. "I just don't seem able to say nothing right."

"People are like that sometimes," Carly commiserated.

Judy's grief exposed everything within her to Carly's scrutiny: her grandmother was sick, her father was in jail, her mother was gone. Judy hadn't finished high school because of a pregnancy that ended with the baby's still-birth. She was a hard-working, honest girl, who had a horrible gap in her memory. Carly couldn't establish its place in Judy's chronology, so she looked toward the other waitresses, and couldn't get any more specific information. It wasn't recent, probably the beginning of the summer, but Carly couldn't arrive at any clearer point of reference.

Carly borrowed the Waffle House phone book and wrote down the addresses of a couple of places that might have fine arts supplies. Two were nearby, but one was down by Loggy Bottom, and that, to Carly, seemed to be too far to drive. Carly settled on a compromise. She'd pick up a more inexpensive easel and tray stand, and then order a replacement from New York. Nevertheless, she needed canvas and some new paint, so she went over to Hobby Lobby, the nearest arts and crafts store that would have a decent selection.

As she walked around Hobby Lobby, evading the aisles of inspirational Christian art supplies and home-schooling paraphernalia, Carly started to think about her most recent dreams. She needed a supply of sketch pads for her bed, and pencils, although she wondered if charcoal might not be a better option than sketch pencils. She probably couldn't stab herself to death with charcoal, although she could, she presumed, put out an eye. But Carly began to wonder if Eric's suggestions before she slept had determined the course of her dreams, or whether anyone could suggest a pathway to her. Carly thought that the question deserved some investigation.

After picking up her art supplies, and a few groceries, including, Carly went home, intent on settling in and having a nap.

She pulled down the shades around the guest-house, darkening her environment as much as she could. Then Carly took out an old mini-recorder and said, "I want you to dream of Eric as he buried his parents." She played it back to herself. Carly lay down, sketch pad and dull pencil at the ready, and tried to sleep. She held onto the suggestion, but her determination began to waver, and she began to daydream about Eric, about how impressive his hands were, how strong his chin was, the way he tilted his head as he kissed her, the feeling of his hands on her neck, and she fell asleep.

Carly heard crying, the sounds of old and young women, children, men, and saw a group around her. A woman, her red hair visible despite her head covering, knelt at her feet, and she reached down in a gesture of comfort. The red-haired woman—it was Brigid Carly realized—knelt between two bodies, and kissed them each, finally kissing the battered remains of the baby that lay between them. Brigid retreated, and an elderly man came to kneel before her, and placed an object near the male body—Ulfrik. A parade of men and women, young and old, did the same. Finally, she removed a pendant from her chest—she looked down at her hand and saw the Mjolnir—and placed it Ulfrik's hand. She knew that she was within Eric's experience, but she couldn't alter it, couldn't awaken. "Revenge, father. I swear. I will have revenge on the wolf-master. He will pay the price with his own blood, and all his family." She wrapped a leather strap around Ulfrik's hand and then stood.

"Rushes, straw!" An army of men covered the bodies in straw and cloth. A fire blazed in the center of the hall. She walked to it, and took a torch that stood ready, nodded at three other men—two of them had been with Eric when he died-who did the same. They lit their torches. She turned and saw weeping families retreat from inside the hall. Outside, at the eastern corner, she said, "Seek the All-Father, the glory of Valhalla awaits you, father. I shall fight by your side at the end." And then she touched the torch to the wet wood and the straw that peeked from between the posts. The fire moved slowly to engulf the entire structure, which burned, hot, for hours.

Carly awoke, and it was nearly dark. She'd slept most of the afternoon away. When she looked around her, she saw that she was covered in the charcoal from the pencil, as were her sheets, and at least a dozen pages that were covered by the faces of the grieving tribesmen, by the laid out corpses, and the burning long-house. A feeling of relief, as well as terrible power, swept through her. For the first time in her life, Carly realized she was the master of her own dreaming. No more did she have to suffer through nights and nights of death, dying, and pain. She could simply direct herself to a moment in time, find it, and record it dispassionately. She only had one more question: was she impervious to pain only when she dreamed of Eric and his progeny, or was she finally insulated from the terrible suffering of the people she sought? Carly hoped, desperately, that her bond with Eric, or whatever it was that had happened to change the way she dreamed, meant she didn't have to die painful deaths, over and over, to find the faces of the dead, to listen to the bones speak.

Realizing she only had about an hour and a half until she should expect Eric and Pam, Carly ate, showered, dressed, and got the new easel and box open. She would probably just sketch the two of them tonight, but she wanted to be able to get them used to how the sittings would work. If she took some pictures of them as well, she could have more to work with. Just after sunset, her cellphone rang.

"Hello?"

"Hello, my beautiful creature." It was Eric.

"Are you still coming over to sit?"

"Yes, but I was hoping you could come to pick me up at Fangtasia."

"I thought Pam was going to get you." Carly didn't mind, but she wondered what had changed.

"She was, but I have a piece of furniture there I'd like to bring over to your house. One of my employees picked it up today at an antique store, and I think it's perfect for the portrait." Eric laughed. "It won't fit in the Corvette, but I thought it might in your car."

Carly took down the directions to Fangtasia, just to be certain she knew the way. When she got there, the back entrance was open, and a few lights were on inside.

Only a pink Mercedes sat in the employee lot, and Carly knew immediately that it had to be Pam's car. As she walked into the main room of the bar, she saw Eric slouched in a ridiculously baroque chair, while Pam stood before him in a pose that suggested wife, child, and lieutenant.

"Carly, what do you think of my throne?" Eric smirked. "Does it make you want to kneel before me?"

"It's an imposing, piece, Eric. Not as Scandinavian as I would like." Carly smiled.

"I wasn't thinking of it as a king's throne," Eric gestured for her to come nearer. "But I did think it offered a provocative angle."

Carly understood what he was suggesting, and Pam seemed to enjoy the suggestion even more than Eric. She purred, "As long as I can watch."

"Eric," Carly held up her hand as if stopping traffic. "I hope you're kidding."

He leapt down from the stage and drew him to her. "At least for here. Perhaps we can play some games when we get it back to your house." Eric smirked and leaned down to kiss her. "Alone," he reassured.

"Killjoy," Pam chimed in from the stage.

"I don't think I could do that," Eric looked hurt.

"I think you'll like it, sweetheart. Once you get used to it, I'm sure you'll find it a transcendent experience."

"I don't want her watching us, Eric!" Carly broke his grip on her.

"Of course she won't, Carly." Eric embraced her again. "I meant fellatio—I'm sure you'll enjoy it."

Carly blushed deeply. "I don't want to talk about this in front of anyone else, Eric. I'm really uncomfortable."

"Don't worry, Carly-Sue. He may look big, but he's not hard to handle once you've got the right hold on him." Pam appeared unrelenting in her choice of topic.

Looking up at him, imploringly, "Please, Eric. Make her stop."

"Pam. The topic's worn itself out. Let's get the chair in her car." Eric snapped his fingers, and Pam crossed her arms. Eric looked over his shoulder at her, and Pam snapped her fingers in reply.

"It's your chair. Your human. Get it in the car yourself." Pam zoomed out of the room, and Carly heard a car door shut and an engine hum to life from outside.

"Brat. The damned thing was her idea." Eric hoisted the chair over his shoulder.

With the geometry puzzle of getting the chair into the back of the car complete, Eric locked up the bar, and asked Carly for the keys. "Pam tailgates, sweetheart."

Carly relinquished the keys happily. Even though she knew Eric would probably force her little hatchback to its limits, Carly didn't want to drive feeling Pam breathing down her neck. At that moment, Carly felt small, insignificant, and a little dirty. The sudden exposure of her sexuality, and her limited knowledge of the range of human sexuality, to the world, made her chafe. Not only did she not know what she was doing—she barely followed Eric's lead in bed—he'd done it all before with other people, with Pam, and couldn't possibly be satisfied with the little Carly had to offer. The familiar sensation, that this relationship could only end in her total heartbreak, returned, and weighed her down. Not until they pulled into the guest house did Eric say anything to her.

He grasped her wrist as she moved to open the door. "Carly, come here."

She looked over at him, "Why?"

"Because I need you to. I need you to see how much I feel for you. To know that I don't want to hurt you."

Carly's eyes bubbled up with tears and she embraced him, and he stroked her hair.

"This must be hard for you, Carly. I'm sorry if we embarrassed you." Eric sounded sincere.

She looked up into his eyes. "I just can't imagine what you want with me."

"Everything." He kissed her deeply until the pain of the emergency break pushing into her ribs was too much for her to bear.

"It's too small in here, Eric. Let's go in."

When she and Eric crossed the threshold into the guest house, Carly turned to look at Pam. "How does this work? Can you come in if he can come in?"

Pam swung out her hip and rested her hand on it, "No. You've got to invite me in. Sometimes, if you invite in a progeny, if the connection's strong enough, the maker can come straight in."

"Pam, please come into my home." Carly invited. "Thank you for telling me that."

"She shouldn't have," Eric said.

"She's your human, Eric." Pam sassed.

"Yes," Eric affirmed. "So what she knows of vampires should come from me. I'm responsible for her, not you, Pam."

"Just thought I'd try to be nice."

"Pam, you've never tried to be nice." Eric shook his head in disbelief. "What are you trying to get at?"

"Nothing. She's just got to be careful who she lets in the house." Pam stuck out her chin. "If she's not some fangbanger, she ought to know who she's dealing with."

Carly tried to intervene. "There won't be any vampires in my house unless Eric's brought them here, like he's brought you here, Pam."

Eric said, "Good."

"Fine," Pam drawled. "I have somewhere to be, by the way. What are we doing here?"

Carly set up the "throne" in the middle of the room and turned it so that she could redirect the room lights so that only half of it was illuminated. Carly struggled for a moment and decided that she would illuminate the left side of their faces. Emotions registered, she thought, on the right side of the face, in alignment with the left hemisphere of the brain, with language, and the expression of emotions in language. If Carly highlighted the left side of their faces, which conventional wisdom suggested would be more attractive anyway, more connected to the abstract, aesthetically concerned side of the brain, Eric and Pam's natures as vampires should be more apparent. If this painting was to be in the bar, that's what patrons were paying to see—the exotic, the dangerous, the vampire hidden inside the human exterior.

"I'm just going to start with some sketches and probably take some pictures." And then, because Pam was wearing a hounds-tooth dress with a fluffy pink sweater, "When you know what clothes you want to wear, we'll do another session with pictures."

"What's wrong with this outfit," Pam asked petulantly.

"This is a portrait for Fangtasia, Pam," Eric scowled at her. "Not for the Shreveport Junior League."

"Fine. What do you want me to wear?"

Carly had an idea of what would look good. "Pam, do you know John Singer Sargent's Portrait of Madame X?" Carly ran to the bookcase and retrieved a heavy book of American Portraiture. "Here."

Pam looked over the picture. "Well, she's delicious."

"I think a dress like that, only maybe red instead of black," Carly imagined Eric, slouched in the position he held as she walked into the bar, and ran through a variety of costumes—Viking or modern. "And then Eric can sit in front of you, in the chair, in a black t-shirt and jeans. You'd be elegant, Victorian, and a little scandalous, and then he'd be..."

Carly couldn't characterize the pose she imagined for Eric. Predatory, dangerous, threatening, strangely beautiful, personifying lust without limits, a masculinity without boundaries that consumed women.

"Carly?"

"Yes, Eric, I'm sorry. I think you should just dress the way that you always seem to—jeans and t-shirt. But leave your shoes off." Carly thought that the contrast between the studied elegance of Pam, standing behind him, and his aggressive informality, would be exactly what would lead the patrons of Fangtasia into obsession. Pam would be the object of masculine lust and feminine envy, and he would be, well, Eric.

Carly posed them in their positions and then sketched, until Pam started complaining about being bored, hungry, and horny. "And if you two aren't going to help, I want to be getting on with my evening."

"Go, Pam." Eric growled. "Stop torturing Carly."

"Good night, Carly-Sue. It's just too much fun to tease you, almost as much fun as smelling you."

"Go," Eric nearly yelled.

Pam strutted dramatically out of the guest house and drove away.

Eric patted his lap. "Come here, Carly."

"Feeling like bossing me around, too?" Carly stood defiantly and waited for his response.

"Carly..."

"I'm sorry, Eric." She walked over to him and sat on his lap. "I still don't understand what's happening with me, and I'm not accustomed to these feelings."

He kissed her, and, after a few minutes, he pulled back from her. "Tell me what you feel."

"Alive. I want you inside me so much, but I want you all to myself. I don't want to be without you, but I'm afraid to lose myself in you." Carly kissed Eric again, until he pushed her away again.

"Then what do you not understand?"

Carly pressed her head against Eric's, "Where it stops."

Eric said, quietly, "It doesn't have to."

Carly gathered herself up and stood. "Are you staying with me tonight? Until tomorrow."

"I may." Eric stood next to her, "Or I might fly home before dawn?"

Eric picked her up and they were at the bed. Carly was laughing hysterically. "Please don't tell me you're going to go all George Hamilton on me and turn into a bat!" Eric began tickling her, and they began rolling around on the bed, until she finally couldn't breathe, and she started gasping. "I need to tell you something!"

Holding her still, Eric said, "What? Rip off all my clothes, my beautiful viking."

Still gasping, "No, not yet."

"So much disappointment you give me, you wicked child."

Carly looked at him and wondered whether she should tell him that she only needed a suggestion, that it needn't be his, before sleeping to access a dead person's life, or whether she should tell him she'd found a waitress without a memory who'd posed for Anna's artist-vampire.

"Eric," she said to him, tentatively.

"I'm waiting, Carly, just a few words from you and we'll attached...at the hips."

Instead, she asked him, "How can you fly?"

"I just fly. I think of the way I want to go and how fast I want to go, and I fly." Eric grabbed hold of her, cradling her head in one elbow, her knees in the other, and rose from the bed to the ceiling.

Carly buried her head in his neck, "Oh my god!"

"Yes, Carly, now just tell your god to take off his clothes." Eric sank back to the bed.

"Do you just think about sex?"

"Much of the time, when I'm not thinking about eating. Sometimes I think of combinations of the two."

"Are you hungry?" Carly asked.

"Are you offering to feed me?" Eric stroked her forehead and moved her hair from her eyes.

"I want to feed you, Eric."

He looked her in the eyes and said, "I don't need further encouragement." His fangs popped out, and he lunged at her neck.

Carly expected a violent bite after his rapid and dramatic approach, but he bit her even more tentatively than before. He sucked deeply from the wounds, swallowing small mouthfuls of blood, five or six times, until he started licking her clean. He kept licking her skin until he reached her mouth. He bit down on his lip and let her taste his blood. She only had a taste, but it was electric, a current that opened her up to him. He finally stopped kissing her, but she realized that he'd managed to take off her clothes somewhere along the way. Eric rolled on his back and said, "Undress me, Carly. We can play for a while before we talk again of terrible and important things."

At some point during their games, Carly had grown self-conscious of the noise, so Eric dragged sleeping bags and cushions into the cellar and shut the door. Sounds came from her that she was sure would shatter bottles by the hundreds, but all remained intact. The only things shattered were her sexual boundaries. She did things she would never describe to anyone, not because of shame, or out of a feeling that Eric had humiliated her, because he hadn't, but because the feelings they elicited were too precious to her to share. He hadn't dominated her; he taught. He didn't exploit her for his own pleasure, but shared his with her freely. The two of them continued to embrace and roll and taste and fill each other until Carly realized that a small stream of blood was flowing out of Eric's ear.

"Are you hurt?" Without thinking of what she was doing, she licked it away, so accustomed already to tending to his wounds with her own mouth, no longer disgusted by the sight of his blood.

"No. Carly. But I need to rest. It's long after dawn. If I don't rest, I start to bleed a little."

As soon as he mentioned his need for sleep, her own body collapsed in exhaustion. "I had no idea it was so late. What time is it? Can you tell?"

"Probably about ten. We've probably been at it about ten or twelve hours." With that, they both slept.

When Carly awoke, the full realization of what she had done wasn't emotional, it was physical. Her mouth was dry, she was sore, and she felt repulsively dirty. She realized that she was covered in sweat, streaked with blood, or what she thought was blood, and that she smelled of sex. She sat up and tried to figure out how she was going to get upstairs without exposing Eric to sunlight.

Carly explored the wine cellar and realized that it had a dumbwaiter in one corner, so she had that option for escape, although it seemed very imprudent. Immediately beneath her own bathroom was a some utility plumbing, with a concrete trough set into the floor. She used that to clean herself up and ran the water for a long time to wash away anything that might contaminate the cellar and make it smell. Then cold, but clean, Carly went back over to Eric, curled up next to him, and slept, knowing that this was probably the last time, for at least a week, that she'd be able to luxuriate in his presence so long. Tomorrow, she'd have to go back, somehow, to conventional daytime working hours and her nights filled with dreams of other people's lives and deaths.

Eric woke her, nuzzling beneath her chin and rubbing her breasts against the stubble on his chin. "Wake up, sleepy head."

"Hi."

Eric looked at her disapprovingly, "You are much too clean for all the dirty things I did to you last night."

Carly smiled, "I'm a feminist, Mr. Northman. It's all the dirty things we did to each other."

"Mmm.. Yes, I remember. Can we do them again?"

"Maybe after I eat something. I'm starving. I've been down here with you all day." Carly struggled to get up, but he hurried to his feet and assisted her. She realized that she was even more sore than she'd been upon first awakening.

"Let's get you something to eat." Eric kissed her on the head. "Then we can shower and start all over again."

They climbed the stairs, wrapped in the sleeping bags and blankets they'd dragged underground the night before. Carly got some fruit, made a sandwich, and sat down to eat it. Eric climbed into his jeans, so he could walk around a little less conspicuously, but it made little difference. He walked around the small open space stretching his long limbs, prowling, occasionally looking over his shoulder at her.

"How many people do you know in Shreveport?" Eric asked off-handedly.

"Not many, maybe five or six, including you and Pam." Carly reminded him solemnly, "Two new acquaintances are dead and one is probably in jail by now. Why?"

"Your phone says you have ten voicemails. You should probably listen to them."

"He brought the phone to her, and she activated the speaker function."

"Hi, Carly. This is Alex. Jethro told me you called. I just wanted to call back and say thank you. I'm doing okay, but it's been really hard. The police have had a bunch of questions, but they've been nice to me all around. I'm probably gonna go home for a couple of weeks, but when I get back I'll call and let you know how everything's going. Also, this police detective wanted your name, so he might be calling you."

"Yes, Ms. Michael, this is Detective Miles Andrews. We had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting at the hotel crime scene when you first got into Shreveport. I planned to call to follow up and thank you for your statement. But it seems as if you've got a connection to two more homicides. As you might imagine, this has caused a little bit of a rumpus down at the station. Also, the address you gave us appeared in a break-in report that popped up when I ran it. For one woman to be afflicted by three crimes in almost as many days, well, seems terrible bad luck. So I need to speak with you as soon as possible."

"Carly, darling, this is Abdullah. You asked about my New Orleans artist. Yes, well, Edgar says that he has a protege in Shreveport, named Sebastian Adler. He said that this Sebastian is young and has a 'challenging aesthetic.' From a man as vulgar as Edgar, I can only imagine that means he is very bad. My love to you and tell your Mr. Northman I expect him to live up Jean-Jacques's description, but only if he makes sure you're as beautiful as you deserve to be."

Two hang-up calls followed.

"Ms. Michael, this is Detective Andrews. I'm trying to reach you again. Please call as soon as possible. The district attorney also wants to speak with you regarding Ms. Jacobs. He hopes that you might shed some light on her mental condition at the time of the killings."

Two more hang-up calls.

"Detective Andrews again. Please call me right away."

"Carly, this is Anna. I need to talk with you. I'm in the hospital, and they tell me I killed Greta and Brian. I don't know what's going on. Please help me."

Eric sat the entire time as they listened with his fingertips together, looking absently over the triangle they made as if considering some thorny philosophical problem. "You must call Detective Andrews, Carly."

"Do you know him?" Carly asked.

"No," Eric said, "although I suspect that it might be time for some..." Eric winked at her, "inter-agency cooperation. Let me shower while you're on the phone."

Carly dialed the number that the detective had left on her voicemail. "Hello, Detective Andrews, this is Carly Michael. I'm sorry I didn't get back to you earlier. I've been away from my phone all day."

"Thanks for returning my call, nonetheless." He cleared his throat. "Do you have time to talk, Ms. Michael?"

"Yes, but I would guess you'd like me to come in, right?" Carly knew the procedure and was happy to help. She knew that the crime wave that swirled around her first few days in town would look terrible to any observer. "That would be standard procedure."

"Yes. Now are you going to be working with the police?" Detective Andrews asked.

"Indirectly. My job is primarily to reconstruct physical appearances so that police and medical examiners can determine the identity of crime victims and historical remains disinterred by natural disasters or development. Really, Detective Andrews, my life has always been very sedate and un-interesting until I moved to Shreveport. I've never been caught up in something like this. I didn't bring this trouble to town with me, I can assure you."

"I believe you. This has been going on a long time before you got here. If it weren't for the matter of your apartment, we'd just write it all off as coincidence. But the problem is that Anna Jacobs says she doesn't remember getting you the apartment or helping you move into it, but we know she did on both accounts. And her surviving roommate, Alex, mentioned the conversation you'd had with him about asking for a photograph of Brian. We need you to tell us a little bit more about that."

"I'd be happy to," Carly asserted. "I just need a little while to get ready. Do you want me to come out to you, or do you want to come here?" Carly looked around at the house that looked like it had hosted a Roman orgy.

"I'd prefer that you come down to the station, just so we have all the files and pictures here. Could you be here within an hour?"

Carly wondered about Eric. "Detective, I think I can, but could I bring a friend with me? He helped me move out of the apartment, and it was his employees who discovered the break in."

"Yes, a Beau Williams. So you want to bring in Eric Northman?"

"If that's possible?"

"Don't see any reason why not. He's a big mover-and-shaker around here, and I've never met the old man." The detective chuckled. "It will be nice to finally put a face to the name. He must be what, 75 or so."

"Um...something like that."

Carly dressed quickly and filled Eric in on the conversation. He laughed at the suggestion that the detective was expecting an "old man" to accompany her. "As long as you sit on the old man's lap, little sweet."

"None of that while we're talking to the police!"

"I am the perfect alibi, you have to admit." Eric started teasing her again. "Maybe they'll lend me a pair of handcuffs."

"Stop it, Eric. I'm not a suspect. They just want to talk with me."

Eric drove them to the station, where they parked and made it inside to the detective bureau of the Shreveport police.

Once inside, heads turned toward them, and Carly shrank next to Eric. She wondered if they were all expecting "The Elder Eric Northman" or if his appearance was what silenced the crowd. They found Detective Andrews, and Carly introduced the two of them.

"Detective Andrews, this is Eric Northman, who's lived in Shreveport the last fifty years or so."

Eric thrust out his hand, and Carly stared at him. "Detective Andrews, it's good to meet you."

They shook and Detective Andrews looked at Carly in shock. "Well, I'll be damned. Eric Northman, prominent businessman, is a vampire. Who the hell knew?"

Eric smiled in that way that could make the hardest heart melt, "Only a couple of people. My lawyers, mainly."

Detective Andrews shepherded them into an interview room, where Eric pulled out Carly's chair for her. She was struck by how well-mannered Eric could be when he tried. The realization reminded her, once again, that adaptability must be the principle strength of a 1000 year old vampire.

Carly began the conversation, "Detective, what information can I offer you?"

"Tell me a little about how you met Anna Jacobs, what the nature of your relationship is, and what you know about her personal life."

Carly told the story: how she met Anna through a connection her dissertation director had offered her, how Carly left her car with Anna for the summer, how she'd given Anna a limited power of attorney to sign the lease, and how she'd helped Carly move in, summoning a whole crowd of additional helpers. Carly listed all of them for the detective, and then told him about the episode where Brian asked her what she knew about "v."

Once again, Eric grew stern at the mention of it, and the Detective grew visibly nervous as a result.

Carly also shared how Anna talked about the "new man in her life," the vampire artist. Carly mentioned that she had some art world connections in New York, and just as she was about to mention Edgar Martin and his protege, Eric touched her thigh, so she remained silent about that detail. She hoped that she hadn't had a change of expression. She finished the thought by suggesting, "so I guess vampire artists aren't anything too special."

"Carly, you seem to be the only person she mentioned this man to. Do you have any idea why that would be?"

Carly shook her head, so the Detective turned to Eric.

"Do you have any ideas, Mr. Northman?"

"Yes, actually. When I visited Carly's apartment, I asked to look at her lease." He smiled and gestured expansively. "I wanted to make sure she was getting the best terms, and I noticed a clause that said that the owner or his designee could enter the apartment without giving Carly notice. When she showed me a light-tight oversized closet, with a concealed latch, I was uncomfortable, and insisted that she allow me to find a place for her to stay until my lawyer contacted the landlord and changed her lease."

Detective Andrews smiled conspiratorially, "And where have you been staying, Ms. Michael?

"With Mr. Northman's lawyer's family, Jim Kelsey and his wife Phyllis." Carly was glad that she was staying somewhere that preserved the appearance of her virtue even if she had cast it aside there.

"Oh, well. I know Jim really well. He and I go to the same church." Andrews nodded, and Eric made an "of course" gesture.

"So, Mr. Northman, what did you think was the problem with the clause and the closet?" Andrews chuckled at the unintended euphony.

"The closet provided a hiding place for a vampire, and the clause allowed a vampire to enter without her knowledge or approval. I feared that she could be victimized." Eric looked at Carly longingly. "I'm very attached to Carly, and I don't want to see her misused."

"You think that there's something to this vampire boyfriend, thing, then?" Andrews asked.

"Yes." Eric Northman leaned on the table. "Is the Shreveport police department ready to deal with vampire offenders?"

Andrews shook his head. "Nowhere near ready, Mr. Northman. We've got a couple of vampires who've applied to the police academy, and they seem like good people, but we don't know how we're going to get them through. We'll need special teachers at night."

"The three of them are good vampires, yes. And I'm certain they were once good people. Two of them have the same maker, and she makes wise choices in her progeny." Eric spoke authoritatively.

"How do you know them?" Detective Andrews looked confused, and Carly was trying to understand how the conversation had shifted away from her involvement into discussions of local law enforcement.

"Detective," Eric said seriously, "would it be possible for you to rouse the chief of police and the district attorney and get them down here to speak with us. I think we need to have a very serious conversation about the future of public safety in Shreveport, Louisiana."


	17. Chapter 17

A/N I own nothing having to do with True Blood or the SVM. Thanks to everyone for the reviews and all the positive feedback!

Chapter Seventeen

Detective Andrews stared at Eric for a moment, but then said, "Give me a second. It might take about half an hour to get them here. They're probably still awake." The detective shook his head, "I bet they're sleeping about as much as I been lately."

He stepped out of the interview room, and Eric pulled out his cellphone without looking at or speaking to Carly. "Yes, Eric Northman here. I need to speak with Sophie-Ann. Don't give me that shit, Andre, I'm at the Shreveport police station, so I'm not going to use her fucking title. Tell her that, too, before she starts playing games."

Eric reached over and took Carly's hand and said, "You'll need to trust me and keep questions to a minimum, my sweet girl." She nodded, understanding how completely out of control the situation was.

"Yes, Sophie-Ann. I don't have much time. The situation has become difficult in Shreveport, and I've had to offer my assistance to the human police before individuals endanger our position." Eric paused. "You could order me to be silent, Sophie-Ann. But I'm certain that international interests outweigh your desire for privacy at this time." He paused again, but Carly couldn't hear his interlocutor. "I will be as discreet as possible, but I will need to disclose my position to them and help to contain the situation." The pause was longer, and Eric began tapping his fingers on the desk in evident frustration. "I don't know how many deaths vampires are responsible for, but I suspect that someone has established a safe-house in my territory, and I know that at least one vampire has not presented himself to me." A brief pause interrupted him. "Sebastian Adler, progeny of Edgar Martin. Do you know of him? No, well, Sophie-Ann, my dearest, isn't this a problem?" Exasperation crossed Eric's forehead. "I hope you're joking, but I suspect you aren't. I will keep you apprised of the situation." Eric hung up.

Eric leaned in to kiss Carly and then whispered in her ear, "If I were the Sheriff of Nottingham, then Sophie-Ann would be...?"

"So where is Richard?" Carly tried to play the game without revealing too much, especially since she was unsure they weren't being recorded.

"According to Pam..." Eric winked. "But Pam's warrior of Byzantium has no desire for the throne."

"I see. But Richard isn't being held captive somewhere?"

"No. John has no rivals within England, despite his comparative youth and inexperience, although some from other realms, say, France or Belgium—just across the water-would make matches and consolidate territory, rendering John but a vassal." Eric smiled, clearly enjoying himself.

"And how many shires does this England have?"

"Five, but John reeves his castle shire for himself. Nottingham is one of four with a distinct Sheriff, but it is borders, woods, and wilds." Eric leaned in and kissed Carly passionately, "Just like its sheriff."

"You are very, very bad." Carly couldn't help but laugh at him.

Detective Andrews walked back in and jumped a little witnessing their intimacy. "Sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt."

"We were just talking about the Robin Hood movie we were watching earlier tonight," Eric smiled winningly. "Can we expect the chief and district attorney?"

"They're on their way. But we have a few more questions for Ms. Michael?"

"Do you know, Detective," Eric gently corrected, "that you should address her as Dr. Michael?"

"It's okay, Eric." Carly smiled sheepishly at the detective. "Really, you can call me Carly."

"Detective Andrews, I'd prefer it if you would call her Dr. Michael," Eric glared at him and spoke slowly.

"Eric!"

"Dr. Michael, have you heard from Anna Jacobs since the murders?"

Carly decided that the detective's sudden formality must have resulted from glamouring. "Eric, I can't believe you did that?"

Eric redirected her attention to the detective, "Didn't you receive a phone message, darling?"

"We'll talk about this Eric." Carly glowered at him and then nodded at the detective. "Yes, there was a message from her on my voicemail from earlier today, but it was the last message in the queue, after one from Alex, three from you, and a couple of hang-ups from numbers I didn't recognize." She pulled the phone out of her purse. "I have it with me so that you can write them down."

The detective pulled up the list of received calls from Carly's phone and started writing down the unidentified numbers. Then he called the first number that wasn't his. They heard, "The number you have reached has been disconnected," through the speaker phone, and then "You have received a call from Shreveport General Hospital. Please contact the switchboard." Finally, "You have reached a pay-phone at the Shreveport City Jail."

The detective wrote down the times for the calls. "Well, it looks like she called you three times today. Have you spoken to her?"

"No," Carly reported. "I wanted to speak to you first." Her eyes began, uncontrollably, to tear up, "I don't really know what I'd say. I hardly know her."

"You put a lot of trust in her, Dr. Michael," the detective spoke gently, "for someone you hardly know."

"I don't have a lot of friends, detective. And she was well-recommended and connected to people I trust." Carly was honest. "The limited power of attorney only had one purpose—to get my lease signed. And I didn't really care if she drove the car. It's not good for cars to sit for long periods, right?"

"Well, the district attorney will probably have some more to talk to you about this, but it seems that Anna Jacobs is really fixated on you and thinks you're the only person who can help her."

Carly shook her head. "I really don't know how."

They heard a knock at the door. "Detective Andrews," a patrolman opened the door. "The chief and DA are in the conference room downstairs. You ready to talk to them?"

Andrews nodded, "Tell them we'll be down there in a minute." Once the patrolman left, Andrews asked Eric, "Do you want Dr. Michael along with us?"

"Yes, detective. I'm sure you see by now that she has nothing to do with these murders," Eric spoke normally, but Carly was still nervous that he was exerting his influence over the man.

"Eric, the detective needs to make his own decision about that. You can't … throw your weight around."

"Believe it or not, Carly," Eric looked at her seriously, "I wasn't. Either time. I was just reminding Detective Andrews that a gentleman recognizes that he shouldn't be overly familiar with another man's woman."

"Dr. Michael," Detective Andrews stacked his folders and spoke carefully to her. "I don't know what you two are to each other, but I can tell it's something serious, even though you two can't get married legally just yet. And Mr. Northman was right. I shouldn't be talking down to an educated woman who will be working with us. And I don't think you have anything to do with these murders, no, I don't. But we're out of our depth. We don't understand what's going on with these vampires in town, and they, sorry, sir," Detective Andrews nodded at Eric. "You folks seem to be able to do a lot of things that nobody talks about on the news. Strong, and fast, and people don't seem to remember seeing you or talking to you when you've been right there. It's strange. I need all the help I can get."

Eric looked at Carly again, "Satisfied?" Carly felt chastened at having misjudged Eric again.

They went to the first floor conference room that seemed about the size used for press-conferences or briefings. A short, pugilistic-looking, ruddy-complexioned man with gray hair and a middle-aged, elegantly dressed woman with coffee-colored skin sat next to each other. When the detective, Carly, and Eric entered the room, the chief and DA stood, looking at Eric Northman with a combination of respect and fear. The police chief started the conversation.

"Mr. Northman, I know you got a letter thanking you for your contribution to the FOP last year, but I want to thank you in person since I've got the chance." He laughed. "I thought you'd be older, since my papa used to work for your company. But he never met you either. Just knew the name."

Eric shook his hand firmly, "It seems I'll be able to address questions of my identity more openly now that our status has changed."

Eric acknowledged the district attorney as well. "I also hope to have the honor of voting for you at some point in the future, madam district attorney."

The elegant prosecutor reddened slightly, and replied, "Thank you."

Eric chose a chair at the front of the room and sat down, marking himself as the lead speaker at the impromptu meeting. "Thank you both for coming this evening. I hope that I can trust you three to keep this information as closely guarded a secret as possible. My dealings with the mayor in recent weeks have left me unimpressed as to his quality or judgment, and I have evidence that he's corrupt, so I count on you to keep this matter quiet, or at least share it only with those you believe trustworthy and entitled to the knowledge."

The police chief and district attorney both shifted in their seats and looked at each other meaningfully. Then the DA spoke, "The mayor is under investigation by the state's attorney general, Mr. Northman."

Eric replied, "That makes me feel better. He asked me for a bribe, even before I sat down to explain my...position...to him. As a result, I thought better of it and determined to keep my responsibilities secret, until tonight."

Eric looked at all three officials and began speaking, "As you would suspect, vampires have an extensive social organization that includes a taxation structure as well as a legal apparatus. Each major area in the United States has a lead official, and I have been asked by that person in New Orleans to keep her identity confidential for now. We have a very strict hierarchy that has helped us to retain order and to keep our negative impact on human beings minimal."

He paused for a moment to assess how well the officials understood his disclosures. "Despite fears to the contrary, comparatively few disappearances or unexplained murders are the result of vampire attacks. Most vampires feed, or have fed, since they now may feed on Tru Blood if they choose, discreetly and consensually. Those who feed on humans against their will have abilities that interfere with memory and minimize human trauma."

Eric paused again and waited for questions.

The district attorney asked, "So what place do you have in this hierarchy?"

Smiling, Eric said, "I'm called a Sheriff, although I'm a sheriff in the more traditional, English sense. I collect taxes and keep..." he searched for words, "tabs...on the vampires in my district, and apprehend and detain vampires who must see justice."

The police chief seized on the final concept, "Who determines punishments for vampires?"

"We have an official who determines just punishments and arbitrates disputes." Eric was strangely circumspect. "His is a more permanent role. He travels the country as needed."

The district attorney wondered aloud, "Who sets the laws?"

"The laws have existed for hundreds, if not thousands of years, and are deceptively simple, as are most human laws." Eric's gravitas seemed to shake all three of them.

The silence began to chafe Carly, and she wondered what the three of these officials were thinking.

_Thousands of years, what the hell does he mean, thousands of years? How the hell old is he?_

_How do you detain a vampire? Sheriff's Association says one of them broke open a cell in Oklahoma City and ate the jailer. Another vampire put him down somehow._

_How do we tell the good from the bad? How can you be good if you have to drink blood, even from a bottle?_

Eric began speaking again. "Anna Jacobs admitted to Dr. Michael that she was involved with a vampire—an artist. Dr. Michael has some connections in the art world who have given her the name of a vampire-artist in Shreveport. This man has not made his presence known to me, nor is he a known vampire. All vampires must report progeny they make, or humans they take for themselves, to the relevant authorities." Eric gestured toward Carly, and then stroked her hair. "Dr. Michael, for example, is mine and will be recognized around the world as mine. To satisfy my own curiosity, I inquired about Anna Jacobs, and she has not been claimed by any vampire."

Detective Andrews looked at Carly, "I'm sorry, what 'connections in the art world' is he talking about?"

"My mother's...roommate...runs a gallery in New York City." Carly thought again about the coincidence of all these things as they came together. "He's putting together a show about vampires and about art done by vampires. He knows someone in New Orleans who mentioned this man in Shreveport."

"What's his name, Dr. Michael?" Detective Andrews asked, but Eric answered the question for her.

"The Shreveport vampire calls himself, or is called, Sebastian Adler. I don't know if that was his name when he was a human, and I have not investigated him." Eric looked at the three of them. "This is my primary reason for seeking a conversation with the three of you."

The district attorney had been quiet up until that point. "So are you saying that you know all the vampires who are supposed to be in this area?"

"Yes," Eric replied.

"If this Sebastian Adler is here," the DA pondered, "then he's here without permission."

"If he is here, he exists without permission." Eric sounded ominous. "And without sufficient training, I might add. He could be dangerous to anyone who seeks him out, except to me." Eric looked around the room, "I have other concerns. This building, these Industrial Lofts, might be used to hide vampires from me or other authorities."

The police chief decided that they had covered sufficient preliminaries. "So what do you propose, Mr. Northman?"

"I propose that we cooperate and share information, where we can." Eric still seemed, at least to Carly, frighteningly mysterious and more than slightly threatening. "Certain groups, the newly formed Fellowship of the Sun, for one, pose considerable threats to vampires. Vampires are also suffering from those who traffic in vampire blood. Since its sale is not yet a crime among humans—just as violence against vampires is not yet a crime because we are not yet 'persons'-we fear that human authorities will not interfere until the consequences are too dire for all of us, vampires and humans alike."

"And what, Mr. Northman," the district attorney asked, "will be the consequences if we share information?"

"Your jails cannot hold vampires, nor could your system provide suitable punishments for vampires who commit human crimes. Drainers and blood traffickers commit crimes against vampires, which we are happy to punish, although our punishments would offend your human sensibilities." Eric's gaze had become overwhelming. A thousand years of anger and hatred poured out from his eyes, and Carly felt as if she would suffocate beneath its weight. "I suggest we trade information and offenders. If we detain drainers, you prosecute and punish them. If you suspect a vampire of human crimes, we detain, prosecute, and punish them."

The district attorney looked at Eric with fear, but acknowledgment of the pragmatic value of his offer. "And when we have laws against 'V' and jails that hold vampires?"

"Then we either renegotiate or void the agreement." Eric offered an "of course" gesture. "I would, however, suggest that we continue to share relevant information, no matter our options for detention and justice."

The three officials looked at each other and seemed to agree, although the DA still seemed troubled. "How do we prosecute criminals when they haven't committed a crime? We can't railroad people, even though people think we do it all the time."

"Perhaps," Eric considered, "we might agree upon a comparable crime for which they can be arrested and prosecuted." Eric stood and turned away from the group and then back. "What happens when a criminal confesses? Does that alter the course of a prosecution?"

"If there's evidence and the defense attorney believes his story" the DA suggested, "we do plea bargains all the time."

"And the attorney? Who pays for the attorney?" Carly could tell that Eric was formulating an elaborate plan.

"They're court appointed." The district attorney explained. "They've volunteered to be in the pool and are paid a set rate."

"So if all the drainers, or whatever they confess to, have the same lawyer, who accepts their confession?"

"If the lawyer suborns perjury, she would be committing a crime. She could get disbarred." The district attorney shook her head.

"If the lawyer didn't know the drainers were lying?" Eric suggested.

The detective chimed in, "They'd have to be pretty terrible lawyers."

"Or have a very persuasive supervisor." Eric smiled the predatory smile that bothered Carly terribly. "What drug is the current scourge of humankind?"

"Methamphetamine." The police chief didn't need more than half a second to issue the judgment.

Eric presented a hypothetical situation. "If we were to identify drainers or traffickers and place them in a position where they could be apprehended with a traffickable amount of methamphetamine, that would result in, say, a twenty year sentence, and they were to confess once arrested, would that be a satisfactory compromise?"

The police chief was practical. "Where would you get the drugs?"

The detective volunteered, "Evidence room." When the other two officials looked at him, totally scandalized, he said, "Obvious solution."

Horrified, the district attorney suggested, "You want to tamper with evidence?"

"Not evidence of the crime they've done. You said it yourself," Detective Andrews reminded them, "draining isn't a crime yet, even though it's killing humans and vampires. So we're providing evidence of a crime they didn't commit so that they'll get punished for what they done."

"I don't know about this." The DA shook her head. "I don't think I can sign off on this. I can't let you plant evidence."

The police chief stood up and walked over to Eric, "Mr. Northman, I don't think the DA's willing to go along with this right now, but I don't think she understands what you're offering. Can I break it down for her?"

Eric nodded, "By all means, sir." Eric ceded the floor and sat down next to Carly.

"Cassandra, it comes down to this. We got some vampire out there killing people. But Sheriff Northman's got humans out killing vampires, draining their blood, which is getting pumped into kids, who are killing themselves." The police chief was blunt. "He's offering us a trade. We can't contain or punish vampires for what they've done, but we can punish humans. If we don't have his help, we can't catch these creeps, because he won't have all the information he needs. If he catches the drainers, he'll kill them, or worse." The chief turned to Eric. "Do I have that about right?"

"About right, I fear." Eric smiled at the district attorney indulgently. "In our world, the maker of the murdered vampire would have the right to exact compensation from the responsible party. I would be unable to intervene on behalf of any captured human." Eric brushed his hands together as if he were playing Pontius Pilate in a mystery play.

The DA rested her head in her hands. "And only the three of us know about this?"

"And Dr. Michael," Eric reminded.

"Why is she here, Mr. Northman?" The DA looked dismissively at Carly.

"Because she will be my representative in your world." Eric looked at Carly and smiled. "And, because of her role in identifying remains, she is perfectly situated to help determine whether a human was murdered by a vampire."

"And what about the drainers, Mr. Northman?" The detective asked.

"I will contact you directly, Detective Andrews, because it will require some coordination in order to choreograph their apprehension. I expect you know someone who works with drug enforcement that will appreciate information from your new tall blond informant?"

"Yeah," Andrews assented.

Eric looked to the harried woman who still had her head in her hands, "Madam District Attorney? Do we have a bargain?" Eric held out his hand.

"We've got a deal." She shook Eric's hand. "For now, at least. Once the folks in Baton Rouge and D. C. get everything straightened out, we'll be working above board."

"Of course," Eric smiled. "I prefer to work with human laws instead of as a substitute for them."

"Mr. Northman, you haven't said how a vampire will be punished for killing a human," the DA questioned him.

"It depends on the vampire's intent, just as it would with a human." Eric looked to the police chief. "If a human were attacked and killed the assailant, would he or she be punished?"

The police chief responded, "No, that would be justifiable homicide. Inadvertent death would be manslaughter, intentional homicide is murder in the second degree, and intentional homicide in the commission of another crime would be first degree murder."

"For which death would be the appropriate punishment, yes?" Eric confirmed.

"In Louisiana." The DA clarified.

Eric asked, "A human who solicits the death of a human being at another's hands commits first degree murder, yes, even though he did not perform the act?"

"Yes."

"Then our laws, unsurprisingly, align. If a vampire killed a human for a purpose other than feeding, to conceal another illegal action, he would die the true death."

"And if he killed them accidentally?"

"It depends on his age, as I would suppose it would for your laws." Eric smiled again. "Now, may Dr. Michael speak with Anna Jacobs so that we may get a sense of her state of mind?"

The district attorney nodded her head. "Let me call the jail."

"Eric," Carly got his attention. "Can we talk for a minute, alone?"

"Of course we can, my sweet." Eric looked at the two police officers who were still focused on them. "Would you mind if the two of us went out to her car for a moment?"

"Go ahead." The detective pointed them toward the door.

Once they were at the car, Carly asked. "Eric, why did you put me in the middle of this?"

"Right now, Carly, you are the only human being that I trust." Eric shrugged his shoulders. "You can't lie to me. I'd feel it."

"I'm overwhelmed, Eric. I'm not a cop. I'm not a detective. I reconstruct faces—that's all I do." Carly felt frantic and cornered.

Eric embraced her, "You also read minds and experience the lives and deaths of the human remains you handle." He chuckled. "These are gifts that suit a detective, or a sheriff, well."

"You've turned my world upside down, do you know that, Eric Northman?"

Eric rested on the fender of her car. "I'd prefer to turn you face-down right now, Carly. You're nearly irresistible when you're angry with me."

"You are absolutely impossible." Carly hugged him. "I don't know how I'm going to go to work tomorrow morning. I'm so tired."

Eric kissed her. "You'll be fine. I'll make sure you're strong."

They went back inside and the district attorney asked them to follow her to the jail, so that Carly could talk with Anna. When they reached the threshold of the jail, Carly and the District Attorney walked through the metal detectors without hesitation. Carly turned, and saw Eric still at the door. He called her back.

"Carly, I can't go through the door. I'm sorry. Someone must live here, I need to have an invitation. You have to go without me unless you can figure out who lives here."

"Excuse me," Carly called to Cassandra Welles, the DA, "Mr. Northman just got a call from a colleague. He needs to go attend to some business."

When Carly caught up to the DA, she asked, "How did you get caught up with a vampire, Dr. Michael? You seem like a nice girl."

"I make most humans nervous." Carly had grown tired of the equation of vampires with depravity. Eric had been kind, supportive, and generous. Having seen what humans could do to each other by dreaming others' deaths, Carly wasn't certain that vampires were any different or any worse.

The DA turned to her suddenly, "Why?"

Carly realized that her characterization of herself might be incriminating, so she decided she might as well do what made people nervous. Carly opened herself up to Cassandra's mind, and she saw, felt, and heard everything, just as she had with Phyllis and Judy. Carly knew how hard Cassandra had worked to get through school on her own, with her father gone and her mother working full-time to care for five children. She saw the heartbreak of a miscarriage that had resulted in childlessness and ended her marriage. But her solitude allowed her to throw herself into her work, and she was proud that she never cut corners in prosecutions, that her cases were never overturned, even if she was terribly lonely and drank herself to sleep most weekends.

"Because I can see how much you love vodka." Carly walked ahead of the district attorney, who was left behind wondering how Carly knew her secret.

Carly approached the jail clerk and said, "I'm Dr. Carly Michael. District Attorney Welles called to let you know we were coming. I'm here to speak with Anna Jacobs."

The clerk checked some paperwork and hit the buzzer that allowed them into the jail proper. "The interview room is that way," he pointed. "She'll be there in a few minutes."

Carly and the district attorney went inside the room. "Are you supposed to be here when her lawyer's not?"

"She's refused to see a lawyer just yet." The DA explained. "She says she doesn't remember doing anything."

The door to the room opened, and a woman guard shepherded Anna, cuffed and shackled, into the room. Her orange jumpsuit hung on her near skeletalized frame, and the medical tape from the IV in her arm was still visible.

"Carly," Anna nearly collapsed when she saw her. "I'm so glad you're here. Please help me."

"I'll try, Anna."

The guard guided Anna into a seat and said, "No contact."

"Anna, what's the last thing you remember?"

"Carly, that's the weird part. I can't remember a lot. I remember going to the grocery store with you, and getting pizza, but that's it. I don't even remember when that was or where we were going." Anna started crying. "And they say that I killed Greta and Brian, and that I tried to kill myself. I don't remember any of that."

"Are you okay?" Carly was a little surprised that Anna was already in jail, since she'd fallen on a knife.

"They say I didn't hit anything, any organs or anything. So they just sewed me up and sent me here. I'll get an IV in the infirmary every day, I guess to watch for infection. And they're watching me really closely."

Carly tried to access Anna's mind, and all she could see was disjointed, until she got to May. Before the beginning of the summer, all was clarity and certainty in Anna's life. But after that point, Carly only sensed fragments, disconnected from one another.

"Do you remember when I came out in May, Anna?" Carly thought she'd start with what was visible in her mind and work forward from there.

"Yeah. We had a great time. I met you at Matt's house, and he told me how he used to live with your diss director in grad school." Anna smiled. "You were moving here to work with the police and medical examiners in Louisiana."

"And do you remember where I was going to live, Anna?"

Anna sat and thought, and Carly followed along as Anna tried to build bridges across the chasms in her mind. As Carly shadowed Anna, she suddenly became aware of the shape of the voids. Carly imagined that she was inside Anna's mind, shining a light into these voids to illuminate them for her.

"We went to a lawyer." The light caught one side of the shadow. "You gave me a paper so I could look for apartments for you. And you left me your car." Anna started laughing. "I can remember."

Carly tried to find some shadow of her apartment within Anna's mind, but failed. She did, however, catch the sound of her car door shutting and the strange sound that her passenger seat always made when a heavy form sat on it. Carly shone the light there and heard the most startling sound, a deep rumbling, hunger and lust rattling audibly. She intensified the light, until she could hear a sultry male voice saying, "Whose car is this, Anna? I want to meet her. I want you to bring her to me."

"Anna, who rode in my car with you?"

Anna shook her head violently.

"Anna," Carly looked her in the eyes and said, "did you drive Sebastian somewhere in my car?"

"Yes, Carly, yes. Sebastian wants to meet you. Yes. Do you know him?"

Carly was making progress. "No, Anna, but I know someone who does, and they've mentioned his name to me. What can you tell me about Sebastian, Anna?"

Anna stared at Carly blankly. "Who, who are you asking about?"

Focusing all her attention on the voice she heard in Anna's mind, Carly sought out Sebastian among Anna's memories.

_Anna, I want you to do as I tell you..._

_ Anna, I want you to find me a young woman..._

_ Anna, you must not let anyone know what I've given Brian..._

"Anna, what did Sebastian give Brian?" Carly asked, hoping that she could countermand Sebastian's orders.

"Blood. Sebastian gave him blood."

Anna's eyes grew wide and frightened, and without warning, she slammed the left side of her head down on the corner of the table, knocking herself unconscious. The guard ran to her and picked her up and started yelling, "Help, I need someone from the infirmary down here right away?" The guard tried to stop the bleeding from Anna's scalp, but her flaccid body offered no resistance as the guard pressed a handkerchief to it to stop the bleeding.

The district attorney called 911 from her cellphone, and Carly sat, immobile, trying to penetrate Anna's unconscious mind. She'd never tried to access a brain that was "off-line" before, and she had little success with Anna's. Carly did, however, hear, "I order you to kill yourself by whatever means are at hand."

Carly said to the guard, "Ma'am, I think..."

Within a second after Carly heard the thought, Anna caught her head under the chain that attached her handcuffs to her ankle shackles in an improbable arrangement. The guard struggled to right Anna and extricate her, but Anna turned her body suddenly in the opposite direction, and the room was silenced by the loud snap of Anna's neck breaking. Carly lunged forward and grabbed Anna's face in her hands.

"No, Anna, you didn't have to do that."

The three living women in the room collapsed into stunned silence.


	18. Chapter 18

A/N I own nothing to do with True Blood or the SVM.

Chapter Eighteen

The collected cries of panic, grief, and horror roused the entire jail, including the warden and his wife. By the time Carly was aware that someone was pulling her away from Anna, drawing her hands from Anna's face, her head hanging loose from its neck without any major external wound, and twenty people filled the room, staring at the two of them in disbelief.

"Come on, darlin', there's nothing you can do for her now." The voice speaking to her was gentle, but stern, the voice of a retired schoolteacher whose children were all grown and living their own lives, troubled by their father's choice of political office.

"I need my boyfriend, Mabel." Carly was so frightened she didn't hesitate to use the woman's name. "You can bring him to me. He's outside—Eric Northman. Please, I need him."

"Sure, darlin'," the woman hadn't even noticed that she'd been addressed by name. "I'll go get him for you."

Carly grasped her arm. "He's going to be worried, and he'll move fast. Please don't be scared. I just really need him."

Mabel stood and found her way through the crowd to the door. Within sixty seconds, Eric Northman scooped Carly up into his lap and embraced her so totally that she was nearly invisible from view. Everyone else in the room was so startled they stood silent, except for the district attorney, who brought herself up to her full height and stomped over to the two of them.

"I demand an explanation, Dr. Michael." Cassandra Welles put her hand on her hip. "What the hell just happened?"

Eric yelled at her, "Carly needs a moment. Can't you see she's suffering?"

"I need an explanation, Mr. Northman. Why did Jacobs do that? What did Carly say to make her do that."

"Give her a moment, Madam District Attorney, or I'm taking her home." Eric spoke so quietly, and in such a threatening tone, that the DA backed away from him.

Carly gathered herself and silenced the sounds of all the panicked minds around her, "I'm okay. Eric, I can answer her."

"Are you sure? You're trembling? I can feel you. Let me give you strength," his fangs popped out.

Carly reached up and touched them. "I'm okay. I can do without, and I don't want anyone to see."

His fangs retracted. "I'm here, Carly. Whatever you need, I will do it for you."

She kissed him, "I know. Thank you."

Carly climbed out of Eric's sheltering embrace and walked back to the chair where she'd sat during her session with Anna. Eric followed her over to the table and knelt next to her so he could hold her hand as she spoke.

"Ms. Welles, I left my car with Anna over the summer." Carly tried to figure out how she was going to disclose the information she'd learned from Anna's mind without revealing her own abilities to public scrutiny. "When Anna mentioned riding in my car, I thought she might remember driving it."

Eric grasped her hand tightly.

"Eric?" Carly didn't know if he was trying to censor her.

"Just offering support, Carly. Nothing else." Eric kissed her the back of her hand.

"So I asked her if Sebastian had ridden in the car."

"Why would that be significant?" The DA shook her head. "I don't understand."

Eric clarified. "Carly is strangely attractive to my kind. She has a natural perfume," Eric kissed her hand again, "that would draw any vampire's attention. Although few would likely treat her well, once they had her."

"I think if Anna agreed to give him access to me," Carly gulped, "she may have done the same with other women, or men."

"So what does this have to do with Brian?" Welles asked about the only other thing that Anna said audibly.

"Sebastian sold Brian blood." Carly started crying again. "I think Anna knew, but was supposed to keep it a secret. When I told her that Brian had mentioned 'V' to me, I think she was obligated to keep him quiet. And then keep herself quiet." She tipped over into Eric's shoulder, and he embraced her again.

"Mr. Northman, you said that humans were the ones selling vampire blood."

"That's true," Eric responded to the implicit question. "Yet some vampires distribute their blood, either for money or for other purposes. If they are caught, they suffer extraordinary punishment."

"This Sebastian Adler then, is in Shreveport illegally, distributing his blood for money or something else—God help me I don't even want to know why—and he had this Anna Jacobs out there procuring women for him?"

"That appears to be the case, yes." Carly affirmed the DA's characterization.

Cassandra rubbed her temples. "I guess it's up to you to worry about this, right, Northman?"

"Not entirely. I still need evidence to take before the...relevant authorities."

The district attorney shook her head, "I don't know how the hell you're going to do that. Jacobs is dead, the man he sold his blood to, allegedly, is dead."

Eric looked ruefully at Carly, who sobbed. "It will be difficult. But I have a great deal of faith." He turned to look at the district attorney and the jail officials and said, "You have asked a great deal of my woman, madam. I need to care for her."

"Fine. Go." The district attorney nodded and gestured toward the door.

Carly felt Eric encircle her and hold her firmly, and then suddenly she was in her car. She felt as if she hadn't even taken a breath before she was buckled, and he started the car.

She wept for the entire time that they drove back to the guest house and kept weeping until he laid her out on the bed.

"You need to eat something, Carly."

"No, I just need to rest. I can't make myself something to eat." Carly curled into a ball and tried to sink into the bed.

"No. I'll feed you."

She could hear Eric opening the refrigerator, the cabinets, and arranging something on a plate, but she fell asleep despite her awareness of his movements and the small noises he made.

In seconds, Carly saw herself, and felt panic and fear, and moved her mouth to say and heard, "Blood. Sebastian gave him blood." And then she saw a man in front of her, in Carly's place at the table. He sat, with his arms crossed before her, "You know what I said, Anna."

Then Carly felt agony as her head crashed against the table with unspeakable force. She swam in darkness inside Anna's unconscious mind, and saw blood spilling into plastic sheeting, and a man rolling in it, then rolling across canvas, felt herself pressed down into the floor, felt herself crying out, begging to be released, to be free, and then she heard the same voice say, "I order you to kill yourself by whatever means are at hand."

Carly caught a quick glimpse of herself, her real self, sitting at the table and the guard desperately trying to help her stand, and then felt her body squirm and lock itself into a convulsive position, and then spasm. She lost all sensation, and then heard her own voice, "No, Anna, no."

"Carly wake up!" Eric held her close. "What's wrong?"

"I died inside her, Eric. In Anna, I died with her." Carly was nearly catatonic.

"I only put you down a minute ago, Carly. How did you go to sleep so fast?" He shook her gently and tried to get her to focus on his eyes, but she couldn't. She continued to stare blankly into space.

She whispered, "He hurt her so much, Eric. How could anyone be so cruel?"

Eric bit into his wrist and brought the bloody wound up to Carly's mouth. "Just take a sip, Carly. Please," he begged her, but Carly couldn't even hold her head up straight. Finally, he opened her mouth and let his blood drip into her mouth.

With one drop, heat spread through her body, and she snapped alert. "We have to stop him, Eric. He's crazy. He has to be."

"We will, Carly." Eric brought his hands to either side of her head. "But I need you to help me, to help me figure out exactly what he's done. And there's something else going on here. Something worse. This man in New Orleans, he's making vampires without telling anyone. I need to know why."

She rested her head on Eric's shoulder. "I know." Carly looked at the clock on the kitchenette wall. "How am I going to get to work in six hours?"

"You're going to eat, and you're going to sleep, I'm going to stay as long as I can to care for you." Eric let go of her so that he could bring her a plate with fruit and cheese.

Carly rested against him as she ate slowly. Once she finished, he filled a pitcher with water and let her drink two glassfuls, one after the other. He lifted her to the couch and put a pillow under her head. Carly lay nearly immobile, while Eric zoomed around the guest house, busy with so much that Carly couldn't even see.

By the time he was back at her side, he had his cellphone in hand and was making calls. "Yes, Eric Northman. Yes, I need a driver for my woman for tomorrow." He held his hand over the receiver.  
"Carly, when do you need to be at work?"

"Eight. I need to be at the lab at eight to go over the database and equipment."

"I need a driver for her at seven-thirty." He looked over to her again, "When will you be finished?"

"Five?" Carly asked tentatively.

"And she'll need to be picked up at five from the same location. I'll make sure she has it written down." Eric gave whomever he was speaking to the address for the guest house and instructions on how to find it from the front driveway.

"Come, let me wash you," Eric carried her to the bathroom, undressed them both, started the water, and turned on the shower. He sat cross-legged on the bottom of the tub, and placed Carly on his lap and began cleaning her gently, massaging her spent body, kissing each part of her as it came clean.

Nuzzled into his neck, Carly said, "You must be hungry."

"Yes, and I want to drink you and fuck you, but it would be too much."

"No. Please, take what you want, I don't want to think about Anna any more." Carly began to weep again. "You can make me forget, please." Carly rotated herself to straddle him. "Please."

Eric's fangs appeared, "Carly. Stop tempting me."

She swung her wet hair over her shoulder and stretched her neck toward him. "Please."

Growling deeply, Eric brushed against her neck, "Carly." He grasped her hair and pulled her head straight. "Not tonight. Keep your strength. Tomorrow night, I'll keep you occupied from the moment the sun goes down until it rises." He kissed her deeply and then washed her hair.

Just as gently as he'd led her to the bath, Eric dried her off and carried her back to bed, where he put her in soft pajamas. "I'll stay with you until I must leave, but I've set your alarm for 6:45. Your clothes are there," he pointed at the wardrobe that stood next to her bed. He'd set out a well-matched outfit, complete with shoes, so she wouldn't even have to think about how to get ready. "The car will come get you. Make sure you eat again before you leave."

"Thank you, Eric." Carly snuggled against his naked body. "I love you."

"I know, Carly." He stroked her hair. "Just sleep Carly. Don't dream."

The alarm roused her at 6:45, and Carly struggled to find it. It was 6:50 before it was silenced. She used the bathroom, dressed, and ate, as Eric had planned. She packed her passport and audio recorder in her purse, grabbed a sketchbook and pencil set, and waited. And as Eric arranged, a car picked her up at 7:30 and drove her to her new job downtown.

She arrived considerably earlier than she needed to, which gave her time to call and leave a message on Eric's cellphone. She let him know she was at work and thanked him again for taking care of her. Carly waited patiently inside the entrance at the guard station for the medical examiner, Dr. Ellen Watson-Linkmann, who was technically her supervisor. Exhausted physically and emotionally, Carly stared blankly out the window, watching the Shreveport traffic cruise by in the late August heat. It wasn't impossibly hot, just 85°, but the humidity made the morning oppressive, and the unseasonable heat she expected that afternoon weighed her down with additional anxiety. She had barely been outdoors since she'd arrived in Shreveport. Most of the time she'd been holed up in air conditioning with Eric. She found herself wondering why she was going to work, why she wasn't with him, why she hadn't just committed herself to a life by his side in the darkness.

Despite the work that she did, Carly seldom felt overwhelmed with loneliness or with the despair she wallowed in every day, but at that moment, Carly wanted to retreat from her life and hide.

A gentle voice addressed her, "Carly? How are you doing?" It was Dr. Watson-Linkmann.

Carly mustered a faint smile and lied, "Jet-lagged."

"I'm sure that's part of it." The ME embraced her without warning. "I'm so sorry." At the touch of her cheek, the ME's sympathy flooded Carly's psyche, and she buckled slightly at the knees.

Carly pushed her away, "Thank you." She sobbed slightly, "But I need to get to work."

Without realizing, Carly had addressed the question that troubled Ellen from the moment she received her friend's, Cassandra Welles's, moderately drunken phone call at 3am that morning. "Should I make this poor girl start working this morning?"

Ellen attributed Carly's response to the young woman's dedication to her work and her desire to reengage something like normal life. "If you're sure."

"Yes, I need to start working. I can't just sit at home. I need a routine to get through all of this."

"Okay," the ME signed them into the lab and walked into the office manager's cubicle. Carly gave her passport to the office manager to complete her financial paperwork and signed a few other forms. Carly walked through these tasks absently and without enthusiasm.

Once they got into the office suite adjacent to the autopsy room, Carly looked around and asked, "Where will my workspace be?"

"We've cleared out an office that has a nice view onto the back courtyard. The light is good—it's one of the only rooms with any natural light," the ME volunteered.

"Thanks."

"I wanted to show you the database we've built to keep track of the remains and your reconstructions. Eventually, this will be web-enabled so that people can take a look at the cases from anywhere," the medical examiner explained. The entire summer had been dedicated to this portion of the project. Remains from Shreveport and every other area of the state had been cataloged, and Carly would be able to load photographs, sketches, and three-dimensional models into the database from wherever she worked in the state.

Ellen and Carly spent most of the morning going through the process of how to work with the database, meeting the staff in the medical examiner's office, and then touring the facility. Carly finally realized that the ME had been with her the entire morning.

"Ellen, don't take this the wrong way, but why are you doing all this with me? Why don't you have a tech or a secretary showing me around?" Carly didn't understand why such a high-level official was focused just on her.

The ME smiled. "I'm worried about you, Carly. I know you've had a tough time. Cassie, the DA, and I are old friends, and she's concerned about you. I don't have any testimony to do today, or any autopsies to conduct, so my schedule is pretty clear."

"What about Anna?" Carly asked about Anna Jacobs. "Don't you have to do her report?"

"No," the ME shook her head. "X-rays confirmed cause of death, and manner was suicide, so there's nothing for me to do. The infirmary doctor signed her death certificate."

"Oh." Carly had a sudden flash. "Are Greta and Brian still in the morgue?"

"Yes, Carly, but you shouldn't go look at them." Ellen was visibly distressed that Carly wanted to spend time with the two victims she'd only met briefly.

"No." Carly assured, I only wanted to know if they were still there. "How much longer will they be there?"

"Just a day or so. Once all the paperwork is completed on Jacobs, the cases will be closed."

After a little bit more time spent together—Carly had to prepare a supply list for her workspace—they broke for lunch. Carly convinced the medical examiner that she was of sound enough mind to eat lunch on her own at the little luncheonette across the street, so she had some time to think about her planned course of action, and whether or not it was wise. Carly thought back to the first time she dreamt of Charlie and Uncle Benjamin together. She'd spent an evening with one hand on either skull, and the resulting dream took her into a strange perspective, where she could share the moments prior to Charlie's death with both of them, inside both their minds. As a result, she'd been able to draw Charlie's hospital room with startling realism and detail, since she'd seen his environs from both their eyes. Now that she was able to gain so much access with such a short period of contact, Carly thought that she'd find a way to touch Greta and Brian so that she could find her way into their death. Although she dreaded the fear they'd shared, and the pain they'd suffered as Anna, or whoever, beat their brains out with a claw-hammer, Carly knew that the only way that she was going to know, for certain, that Anna was the sole assailant was to experience their deaths with them.

Her time within Anna's mind last night had answered a pressing question: Carly still felt the pain, fear, and confusion of life and death when she dreamt. She was only immune to Eric's pain and the pain of his progeny. The insight renewed her desire to be with him and to take shelter in him.

Carly finished up her lunch and tracked down one of the autopsy techs she'd met this morning on her tour. "Hi, Bob, right?"

"Yeah, what can I do for you Dr. Michael?"

"Please, Bob, call me Carly." She smiled sweetly at the middle-aged man and dipped into his mind. Recently divorced, Bob contemplated reentering the dating pool, but was terribly shy. He worried how most women would deal with his job and whether they'd be disgusted by what he did every day, transporting dead bodies to and from the morgue and assisting in their dissection. "Dr. Watson-Linkmann didn't seem to want to take me down to the morgue. I'm guessing she thinks it's more than I can handle." Carly smiled again.

"Well, it is kind of spooky down there, and really, really cold." Bob puffed up with pride. "It takes a special kind of person to work down there. You really need to have nerves of steel."

Carly tried to remember how to flirt. "I'm sure, Bob. But I'm really curious about it." She moved a few inches closer to him. "I've never seen a morgue, or a fresh body. Just bones."

Bob looked out the door of the work area. "I don't think she's back yet. Do you want me to take you down there?"

"Would you?" Carly smiled. "Can you keep it a secret? Just between the two of us?"

"Sure. Did you want to see a body too? We've got two down there right now that aren't too bad, except for their heads."

Carly knew that he meant Greta and Brian. "That would be really cool, Bob. I'd appreciate it, and I wouldn't tell anybody."

A twinge of guilt ran through Carly, since she knew that their conspiracy incited Bob's hopes, and enflamed a few fantasies he'd had over the years that he'd worked in the ME's office. She did her best to ignore the visions that began swimming through her mind and willed herself to remain detached from them.

The two moved quickly through a secure door and down the elevator into the morgue. Through another secure door, the two of them stood in a cold room with a wall of cooling chambers and three gurneys standing at the ready.

Bob explained the equipment proudly, "We've got eight coolers, six positive and two negative for longer storage. The two clean bodies are in positive storage, about six degrees above freezing. It keeps them from getting too smelly, but they can't stay there forever. The negative storage only have one, from that hotel case, the headless girl. Did you hear about that?"

Carly winced, "Unfortunately. It happened right after I got to town."

"It's pretty bad. No skin on her at all, and a bunch of her muscle's gone too. No blood either. Probably one of these vampires we're hearing about now."

"Were there bite marks?" Carly asked.

"No, but no blood." Bob opened up the coolers for Greta and Brian. He pulled out the reinforced trays on which their bodies lay. "You don't want to look at their heads, but you can see how cold they are from their legs."

"Can I stand between them?"

Bob looked at her questioningly, but agreed without much hesitation. "Sure. But I'd only look at their feet if I were you. Their faces are pretty messed up."

He moved out of the way, and Carly stepped into the small gap between the two bodies. She lifted the sheets that lay concealing them only a few inches, so she could see their bruised shins. Brian's were cut badly. She placed one hand on either of them, concentrating to touch them as simultaneously as possible. Carly rested her hands there for thirty seconds, and then covered them up.

"They're freezing, Bob. Are you sure they're not frozen solid?" She knew they weren't, but felt as if she had to justify the length of time she touched them.

"No, they'd be icy if they were frozen." Bob pointed to the final two coolers. "I don't think you'd want to touch that one. It's pretty gross. Even for me."

"Thank you for letting me see the morgue, Bob. I'm grateful for the chance." She smiled again, and felt pity for the man who moved bodies from one place in the building to the next, who lost visitation rights to his two teenaged daughters because they'd complained about the stories he told when he took them for ice cream. His desperate loneliness touched her, but she couldn't soothe it.

When they got back up to the main floor, Bob asked, "Have you seen much of Shreveport yet?"

"A little bit," Carly decided that he'd given her an opportunity to let him down easily before he asked her out, which she knew he was planning to do within breaths. "But my boyfriend says we'll see a little bit more once I get settled in. And I have a friend out in the country, and she's promised to drive me around a little more." Both statements were lies, but she felt their plausibility was enough to satisfy Bob's interest in her.

"Oh. Your boyfriend move here with you?" Bob wanted to assess, Carly knew, how permanent a boyfriend she had.

"No. But I can't imagine life without him now." The statement was so true, she hurt a little as she said it.

The rest of the afternoon passed quietly. Carly examined the case backlog and drafted a priority list for reconstruction, which she gave to the medical examiner before she left. Active contemporary cases were the highest priority, but Carly included one historical case for every five recent ones, so that she could give herself a break from violence every six weeks or so.

As promised, the chauffeured car was outside waiting for her when she exited the building with the ME. Carly was suddenly self-conscious at the ostentatious luxury and struggled to explain it.

"My boyfriend was worried about me, since I was so tired last night. He didn't want me driving, so he arranged for someone to drop me off and pick me up."

The ME looked at the Lincoln Towncar and its driver and asked, "And he couldn't do it?"

"No." Carly looked at Ellen Watson-Linkmann carefully and tried to ferret out why she didn't know about Eric. Even in her vodka-soaked state, Cassandra Welles hadn't disclosed Eric Northman's identity or his vampirism to her friend. She was grateful to the DA for her discretion, because it kept one part of her life private. She might have had the sorry luck to have stumbled into town across a crime wave, but her love for a thousand year old viking was still something she could keep to herself, something her co-workers couldn't judge her for until she shared the information with them.

When Carly got back to the Kelseys', she saw Jim and Phyllis waiting for her at the driveway. Their presence was unnerving, and she got out of the car near frantic. "Is everything okay?"

Phyllis laughed lightly. "Of course it is, honey. There's just a little work getting done on the guest house today, a few little modifications, so we thought we'd head you off and invite you to dinner."

"Modifications? Phyllis, you don't need to do anything to the house for me, it's beautiful." Carly couldn't focus, she was so tired, so it didn't occur to her to page through Phyllis's mind to figure out what the modifications were.

Jim addressed the question, "Eric wanted to be able to stay with you overnight, so he had me make some small changes to the arrangement of the wine cellar. No big deal, just a couple of heavy curtains." Jim gestured expansively toward the front door. "Come on, Carly, you must be hungry."

She realized once she was inside the foyer of the main house that she hadn't seen it, or really talked with the Kelseys for any length of time since she'd been there. She also hadn't thanked them anywhere enough, she thought, for their hospitality. The foyer had a marble floor and featured a grand marble staircase that swept in a gentle curve up to the second floor. To the left a set of French doors led into a music room where a beautiful piano and harp sat encircled by a set of beautiful Queen Anne armchairs. To the right, another set of French doors led into an elegant formal parlor. Jim led the three of them in and motioned toward the sofa, inviting Carly to sit.

"Can I get you something to drink? I was thinking of making something fancy, mint juleps, or something else to take the edge off the day? Or maybe a glass of sparkling wine? I have some nice Spanish Cava that I brought up the other day? I could even put in a splash of cranberry juice?"

Although she didn't usually drink very much, the idea of a glass of sparkling wine sounded lovely. "The wine, what would you call it, spritzer? Cocktail? That sounds terrific, Jim."

"Three of them coming up!" Jim headed toward a large piece of furniture that, when open, concealed a bar and a small wine chiller and refrigerator. He had their drinks in their hands within moments.

Meanwhile, Phyllis asked, "How was your first day?"

"It was good, mostly procedural stuff. I spent most of the day with the medical examiner."

Phyllis clapped her hands, "Oh, Ellen, I love her. You'd think that someone like her would be all death and gloom, but she's a peach. Terrible force at Bridge, so you have to be careful, but I like her very much."

Carly decided she should begin to get a sense of the social scene of Shreveport. "So do you know Cassandra Welles too?"

Phyllis's smile darkened a little bit, and Carly sensed the racism, latent or otherwise, washing off of her hostess's mind. "Yes, although Cassandra keeps more to herself. She's not as forthcoming."

Jim shared a less biased view, "Carly, any lawyer in town who works with criminal defense, even occasionally, is the enemy, in Cassie's mind. She keeps her distance from the rest of us, and she's a lonely woman. Ellen's her best friend, though. And Ellen has good judgment in people, dead or alive."

Carly told them about how the office was organized and about the database. Jim expressed a great deal of interest in it. "I work with clients trying to locate runaways sometimes. It's a sad business, but a website like that would help us a lot."

"Runaways should have people looking for them, though." Carly wondered why runaways wouldn't be among the first candidates for unidentified remains.

"Well, sometimes my clients don't report their children missing." Jim shook his head in clear disapproval. "They don't want people talking, so they just say the kids are traveling, or going to school somewhere. I tell them they should report it to the police, but they just don't want to. Rich people can sometimes be rich in stupid too."

Carly laughed. "My mom says something like that too. Her's is 'The only thing bigger than their bank balance is their ignorance.'"

Jim raised his glass, "She's a wise woman."

After a half hour of conviviality, a modestly dressed woman with an apron came to the door and said, "Mrs. Kelsey, dinner is done. Would you like me to serve?"

Phyllis smiled, "Just put it on the table, Peggy. I'll dish it up. Thank you."

They ate a delicious meal, and Phyllis bragged about having poached Peggy from another woman in the junior league, who had refused to pay for health insurance. Peggy developed diabetes, and struggled to control it, and her former employer complained at a meeting that Peggy's reliability had diminished as a result. Phyllis hired her away within the hour, and now enjoyed the best domestic cook in Shreveport.

"Jim's taught me that the best way to get quality work from your employees is to take good care of them."

Carly knew that Phyllis had a long-standing feud with her junior league nemesis and that victory in the latest game meant more to her than her altruism. Nevertheless, Peggy could now care for herself properly and would probably live a happier, healthier, and longer life than she would have otherwise.

Three courses and after dinner drinks consumed, Carly heard a knock at the door, and she flushed with the possibility that it might be Eric. She'd missed sunset, but knew that it couldn't have happened long before. When Eric strolled into the parlor and sat next to her, Carly smiled radiantly.

"Phyllis, the sounds of your hospitality drew me across Shreveport!" Eric complimented the hostess while he embraced Carly.

"Oh, pshaw, Eric. We know who you're here to see," Phyllis giggled lightly.

"Yes," Eric looked at Carly and then kissed her cheek. "And I'm grateful for all you've both done for her."

Jim cleared his throat, "Did you want to see how the cellar's been modified, Eric?"

"Not right now, I'm afraid." Eric sat upright, "I just wanted to check on Carly before I ran a few errands." He stroked her cheek. "I'll be with you at eleven."

"Do you want me to come along, Eric?" Carly didn't want to be left behind, especially if, as she suspected, he was putting together a case against rogue vampires.

Eric looked at her long and hard, as if considering a number of difficult choices. Carly knew that her heart was beating rapidly and that her desire to be with him must be palpable. "If you come with me, you have to do exactly as you are told." Eric's seriousness burned into her. "Are you willing to do that?" He smiled, "Are you willing to be bossed around?"

She giggled at his sudden levity. "Yes. I'll do as I'm told."

Eric turned to their hosts, "May I take her, Jim, Phyllis?"

"Since Carly's in the guest house," Jim suggested, "we can enjoy her company any time." He became suddenly businesslike and asked, "Is there anything you need me to do, Eric?"

"No. You've given me all the information you could, and I have to take it from here."

Once they were in the car, Eric volunteered, "I need to determine exactly who Sebastian Adler's maker is, and where his daytime resting place is."

"How are you going to do that?" Carly was suddenly fearful and regretted her decision to tag along on Eric's "errand."

Eric seemed to sense her reticence, "Do you want to go back?"

"Kind of," Carly told the truth. "But I also want to be with you so badly, I can't even explain it."

"Of course you do."

"No ego, though, Eric Northman." Carly started to laugh.

"I'm just being honest. You're experiencing two things right now." Eric drew her hand to sit beneath his own on the stick-shift. "One, is, I think, perhaps, affection."

"Yes." Carly affirmed that restrained description of what she felt, what she said the night before had been "love."

"The other," Eric said without expression, "is dependence."

They were silent as they drove. Carly recognized the route toward the Industrial Lofts.

"I guess so," Carly finally affirmed. "I have become dependent on you quickly."

"And the blood only makes the dependence more intense. It binds you to me, and as much as I value that connection, it isn't deep enough yet to transmit real emotion between us."

"Then what does it do?"

"It conveys our desire. We long to be with one another, we hunger for each other, for each other's blood."

Carly moved her hand away. She twisted her hands together in her lap awkwardly and stared out the window of the Corvette.

"But I don't want to drink your blood when I'm away from you. I just want to be with you." Carly could feel the tears welling up in her eyes and she felt ridiculous. "I'm sorry." She wiped her eyes. "I guess this is one of the dangers of hooking up with a virgin. You have to go through ten years of psycho-sexual development in a week. I think I'm at weepy teenager right about now."

Eric started laughing violently, and Carly responded in kind.

About two blocks from the Industrial Lofts, Eric stopped the car and parked. "We need to discuss what's going to happen here."

"Yes, please."

"A vampire named Esther Night lives on the first floor of the building, and she is the only registered vampire with a lease."

"But Sebastian told her she knew a 'guy' on the first floor." Carly remembered the detail from her phone conversation with Anna.

"That's been troubling me Carly, but I doubt we should expect honesty from Sebastian."

"You're right, why would he be honest with Anna."

"Or she with you, Carly. She also may not know that Esther is the primary resident. The building opened June first, so all the tenants are new. A day-time employee of mine checked all of the other residents in the building, and they all seem to be human and to function on human schedules." Eric turned to look at Carly. "Nonetheless, all of them have been out sick for extended periods in the last month and a half, or have had unexplained absenteeism, or report feeling 'under the weather' since moving into the building."

"So you think that they're being fed upon without their knowledge," Carly jumped to the logical conclusion.

"Yes. If a human doesn't compensate for the blood loss in some active way, she will grow tired, ill, and eventually require medical care." Eric moved Carly's hair away from her neck and asked, "How do you feel?"

"Fine. But I never get sick, Eric. Ever. Well, I threw up the other day, but that was weird."

"You didn't tell me about that. Why?"

"It was the afternoon before I got here, before all the chaos started." Carly contemplated lying to Eric, but determined that partial honesty was her best course of action. "I stopped on the way to Shreveport in a little town called Bon Temps. Have you heard of it?"

"Yes." Eric didn't volunteer any further information.

"I went into a bar that someone had recommended, and the bartender was...different. I felt two levels of consciousness when I looked into his head, an animal and a human. And then I got startled and overwhelmed by all the minds in the bar, and I threw up."

"Was he a werewolf?" Eric was visibly anxious and interested.

"No. I don't know how to describe it. Is it possible that he could turn into any animal he wanted?"

"A true shape-shifter?" Eric closed his eyes. "Yes, they are very, very rare. Most shape-shifters become one animal, and they keep to a pack or a group of some sort. There's a pack of panthers just outside Bon Temps."

"You know something else about the town, don't you?"

"Yes, but I don't know if I should share it with you. You might be disgusted."

"Do I need to know?" Carly decided to be practical.

"No. You don't. The less you know about my queen and her fancies, the better off you'll likely be."

"Then you can keep it to yourself." Carly changed the topic back. "So what do you want me to do?"

"I will contain Esther and any other vampire in the apartment, and I wish for you to speak to any humans who might be there."

It sounded so simple, Carly wondered why Eric looked so worried. "That's it?"

"Yes. But I don't know how the humans will react, or how many of them will be there."

"Maybe I can tell you before we get inside?" Carly wondered how much control she'd gained over her abilities since knowing Eric. She hadn't tried to refine them, so she thought that she might try to stretch herself. "But how are we going to get in?"

"Just trust me, Carly."

Once out of the car, Eric got a heavy black case out of his trunk and put on long leather gloves.

Carly looked up at him and wondered how they were going to get into the Lofts. Eric smiled at her and said, "Are you ready to fly?" Eric gathered her up and took off, flying them both to the roof of the lofts before Carly even realized how fast they were going or had time to scream.

Eric broke open the roof access door without hesitation. "We'll go down the stairs. As I recall, the door to the stairwell is immediately next to that unit."

They climbed down the four flights of stairs and waited over the threshold to the main floor. Carly concentrated on the open space on the other side of the wall, searching for the signals given off by human and vampire minds. Nothing but silence met her, until finally she sensed fear. Carly focused on the fear, and felt it expand, one point in space spreading throughout the apartment. It belonged to a young man who thought he was going to be modeling for an artist. He was expecting to be paid $100 for his time, but instead he found himself tied to a platform in the center of the room. Two vampires circled around them, the buzzing of their minds loud and insistent, unyielding. No one else was in the loft.

Carly reported what she'd heard, "Two vampires have a young man tied to a bed or something. He's terrified."

"I'll go inside and contain them. You free the human and send him on his way." Eric touched her face with his leather glove. "Please don't fear me after what you see in there."

"I won't." Carly shook slightly. "Or at least I'll learn to lie better than I do."

Eric smirked, "That's all I ask."


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

A/N Hope you enjoy. Thank you for the reviews. I own nothing having to do with True Blood or SVM.

Eric opened the door for Carly, and they moved toward the entrance to the apartment. He nodded at her, broke through the door, and zoomed in at high speed. Carly waited at the door until she saw Eric stop moving. Within moments, he was still and had two other vampires pinned beneath him. He pulled a silver chain from the black case and wrapped them together with it and hoisted them to a standing position. Carly smelled flesh burning and her stomach turned. Nevertheless, she ran toward the young man strapped to a three-foot square platform—she knew his name was John. His hands and feet were tied to the legs of the platform, and he struggled to keep his head aloft.

Carly cradled his head and whispered, "It will be okay." She heard a "thunk" and a "skid" next to her and saw Eric's pocket knife spin to a stop a few inches from her foot. Stretching her legs beneath the captive's head, Carly struggled to support his neck with her knees as she sawed through the ropes keeping him bound to the table.

John's torso was covered in half a dozen shallow two inch long cuts the vampires opened for their "first course." He was strangely quiet, and Carly realized that he'd either been drugged or glamoured. Once she'd freed him, Carly brought him to a sitting position and tried to get his attention.

"John, are you okay?"

"Who are you?" he asked. "You aren't the woman who brought me here."

"Do you know where you are?"

"No. Just that I'm gonna get a $100 when the painting's done."

Carly looked around the apartment and didn't see any evidence that an artist lived in the loft—no easel, no sculpting supplies, no tripod, nothing. A neatly made king-sized platform bed occupied one corner, while elegant velvet furniture spread across the rest of the room in a semi-circle. If Carly were to characterize the decorating taste of the apartment, she'd call it "Early French Bordello." It looked more like a theater with an undersized stage than a habitation.

She also saw that Eric had secured the two vampires to a column. The two of them winced in pain, but made no sounds, and Eric circled them slowly. The woman, Esther, Carly supposed, finally said, "What's your justification for this, Sheriff? You have no right to come in here."

Eric yelled, "Silence."

Carly was frightened, and remembering Eric's instructions to her, refocused her attention on John, the trembling human she held upright. "Let's get you dressed."

"I'm hurting," John said weakly. "They hurt me." He turned toward the three vampires in the north quadrant of the room and said, "I think those two are vampires."

"Just get dressed, John, and you'll be home before you know it."

Carly grabbed his clothes from a nearby chair and started to dress the young man. With each garment, he seemed to grow more aware of his surroundings and what had happened to him and to grow commensurately more agitated.

Once almost completely dressed, John said, "I need to call the cops!" He stood up and started toward the phone.

Eric said, loudly, "Carly, stop him."

Without realizing exactly what she was doing, because she really agreed with John—he deserved to press charges against these two who'd lured him there under false pretenses—Carly grabbed John's arm and said, "John, it will be okay. They're going to be punished."

Esther cried out, "Like hell we'll be punished. We haven't fucking done anything wrong! We weren't going to kill the blood-bag. We were going to pay him, and he wouldn't have known any different!"

Eric struck her with horrifying ferocity, and Carly winced.

John struggled to get away from Carly, but she held him tightly. Suddenly, Carly felt a wave rising from inside her, like a tide, a solid, irrepressible wave, and she grabbed John's chin and looked at him squarely. "John, you're going to calm down." The wave that rose from her held John tightly and trapped him. "You're going to be paid for your time, and all you'll remember was that you fell down." Carly realized she was glamouring the man and was nauseated and invigorated by the sudden power. "The artists sent you home because you were hurt. You weren't away from your life for more than an hour. Now put on your shoes, and I'll walk you out."

As she'd dressed John, she'd felt his keys in his pocket, so she guessed he had a car outside in the parking lot. Carly looked around the room again and walked toward a purse that must belong to Esther. She thumbed through the wallet and pulled out $100.

Carly grabbed his hand, pushed $100 into it, and said, "Let's go."

He replied weakly, "Whatever."

Carly grabbed two magazines that she saw on a coffee table and took them with her as she went to the parking lot with John. She propped the doors open with them, and when she got to the lot she demanded of John, "Give me your keys."

With a click of the car remote, Carly identified his car, and then told him, "Go home."

"Yeah. Whatever."

She stood for a moment while the disoriented young man got into his car and drove away. She thought about staying outside and waiting for Eric to do whatever it was he was going to do. Since the two vampires were tied to the column as if they were about to be burned at the stake, or scalped, or sent to the lions, she didn't particularly want to go back in, but she didn't want to be away from Eric even more.

Eric was staring at the door when Carly returned. She just said, "John's gone." Carly locked the apartment door behind her and moved to one of the more comfortable-looking chairs and sat down to peruse one of the magazines.

"Carly?" Eric asked tentatively.

"I'm fine. Don't let me interrupt." Carly couldn't concentrate enough to read, so she just closed her eyes and listened to the high-pitched buzzing that radiated from the two captive vampires.

Eric turned back to his prisoners and focused his attention on the male vampire. "Who are you?"

"Alan," the vampire squirmed in pain, "Alan Dupres."

Eric growled, "Well, we have a problem, don't we, Alan."

"I'm sorry, Sheriff, I don't know why you're so angry," the vampire started crying, and Carly was aware that the buzzing started to take shape into something that sounded like screams. "Please, just let me go, and I'll do whatever you want."

"Perhaps you should have presented yourself to me. But now, I want information before I even think about letting you go." Eric walked over to a nearby window and raised the shade. "You would have a lovely view of the sunrise from here."

Alan's voice shook. "Just tell me what you want to know, Sheriff."

Esther screamed at Eric, "You have no right. Why are you doing this?"

"For any number of reasons," Eric said smoothly. "To relieve boredom, to remind my dependents to report new arrivals." He grabbed Esther's chin roughly. "How dare you question me when you shelter and feed a vampire without presenting him to me?"

Esther was silent, so Eric turned his attention back to Alan.

"Who is your maker, Alan?"

The screams from his brain started to break into a screeching code with gaps and patterns.

"I can't tell you," Alan whimpered.

"Well, isn't that too bad for you?" Eric moved toward the black case, and Carly looked over to watch him.

He pulled a silver dagger out with his gloved hand, and he started spinning it, as if it were a baton. He grasped it by the handle, and drove it under Alan's cheekbone.

Carly gasped slightly, but didn't scream. The screeching in Alan's mind was loud enough to express her horror as well as Alan's own. Within moments, the screeches organized themselves into recognizable patterns like human speech but entirely unlike it at the same time. It was like speech in the same way that a parrot's screeching can be mistaken for human speech. Clearly, in this parrot-like sound, Carly heard, "Edgar," just above a whisper.

She repeated it aloud. "Edgar?"

Eric turned to her. "Carly?" He was visibly shaken out of his rage.

She knew that he would fear any new ability to read vampire minds, but would fear most for her own safety if others discovered, so she covered herself as best as possible. "Edgar, I'd guess that Edgar would be his maker. If Sebastian is his 'protege' doesn't that mean Sebastian's most likely his child? And Sebastian hid here, right? Or hangs out here. Don't you all stick together, like families?

Eric smiled at her effort to cover herself and protect both of them. "What an interesting question? Esther, I don't recall your maker off the top of my head, since you've been otherwise so uninteresting in the years I've known you." Eric pulled out his cellphone and made a call.

"Yes, Andre, Eric Northman. I have a question for you. Who is Esther Night's maker? Yes, I'll wait while you check." Eric smiled at all of them, vampires and Carly combined. While Eric waited on the phone, he twisted the dagger in Alan's cheek and watched him squirm.

"You know, Esther, your choice of surname is really quite ridiculous. I've never understood it. What led you go choose it?" Eric asked casually.

"Go to hell, Northman."

"Exactly, Esther." Eric smirked. "My name reflects my northern heritage. What does yours do? Suggests you're a vampire. Quite silly, or pathetically obvious, don't you think?"

Andre came back to the phone. "Yes, thank you. As I thought. While I have you on the phone, could you check to see who else credits Edgar Martin with their existence?" Eric paused. "Yes, I'm happy to wait. I'll just doodle." Eric pulled out the dagger and thrust it into Esther's throat.

Eric smiled at her sweetly. "Since you've refused to tell me anything I care to hear, Esther, I might as well keep you from being so rude to your Sheriff while he exercises his sworn duties."

"Yes, Andre, I'm still here. And how old are they? The Queen will want to summon him. I believe he's sired at least two additional vampires, if not more." There was a lengthy pause. "Yes, I have one right here, an Alan, I'm sorry, what was your last name again?" Eric held the phone to Alan's mouth.

"Alan," the vampire trembled as he spoke, "Dupres."

"Did you hear that Andre?" Another pause lingered as Eric listened, and then he asked, "I'll ask them, Andre." Eric turned to the vampire, whose skin suppurated beneath the silver chain. "Has Edgar released either of you?"

Alan whispered, "Not me."

Esther mouthed an inaudible, "No."

"It appears not, Andre." Eric listened again. "Yes, please let me know when she wants us there. I will bring her, although I would prefer not to." Eric frowned and said spitefully, "My Queen's will is my command, of course."

Eric hung up and then pulled the dagger out of Esther's neck sharply.

"I'm going to release you, and you will sit over there," Eric pointed to the square platform in the center of the room. "And you will explain what's going on in this building.

"We can't, asshole." Esther grumbled.

Carly had been watching all of this with a disconnected interest. She'd felt, ever since glamouring John, as if she were in one of her dreams inside someone else's body without any firm sense of temporality or causation. She didn't know if they'd been there ten minutes or ten hours, or why they were there.

"Eric," Carly asked him to come close to her. "Before you let them go, is there any way to see if they're...I don't know...operating with a full tank?"

"I don't understand." Eric shook his head.

"Why would someone make vampires and then not..." Carly struggled and hoped Eric could fill in the word.

"Register them?"

"And this guy," she pointed to Alan, "isn't even with his maker. Wouldn't that be bad?" Carly looked straight at Alan and asked, "How old are you?"

"A month." Alan was still shaking.

Esther growled at him. "Shut up! Your maker commanded your silence."

Alan growled back, "About him, you bitch!"

Carly had a sudden insight, but couldn't locate its source. "Did you meet Brian, Esther?"

Esther still glared at Eric and Carly, but she shifted her body suspiciously.

Carly followed up, assuming that the twitching signified Esther's assent, "You were with Sebastian when he gave Brian blood, weren't you?"

"You can go to hell with your maker!" Esther spat at her.

The word sent Carly back a few feet into Eric's arms. She looked up at him, and Eric shook his head again.

Eric realized the two vampires might not share interests, "Alan, has Esther taken you out to hunt?"

"No. She's just kept me here." Alan must have sensed Eric's new sympathy, because he struggled to distance himself from Esther physically.

Eric thrust the dagger back into Esther's throat and said, "Stay here, sweet-ums, while I let Alan out." He unwound the chain, and Alan fell toward a chair. Eric re-encircled Esther and said, "If you promise to speak respectfully, I'll let you talk."

Esther mouthed "yes," and Eric pulled the dagger back out.

Eric slipped his glove off so that the leather formed a barrier between the hilt and the outside world, and handed it to Carly. "Could you put this away for me, darling? Make sure you don't burn yourself." He winked at her.

Carly dropped the dagger back into the case, but held onto the glove. _Why do they think I'm a vampire?_ She realized that they must have seen her glamour John. _I better stay away from them. _She walked around the edge of the loft and stood next to the door.

"Alan, child," Eric began. "How often are you feeding?"

"Pretty often. I drink a lot of Tru Blood." Alan made a face. "But it tastes kind of terrible."

"Are you learning to feed on humans?" Eric looked like a concerned guidance counselor at a high school.

"Yes." He pointed at Esther, "She's teaching me. That's why she cut that guy up. She wants me to learn to control myself."

"Despite her personality, I think she's wise to teach you that way. Especially now." Eric brushed lint off his leg. "You don't want to drain someone accidentally. Newborns often do." Eric paused for a few moments and then asked, paternally, "Has she hurt you at all?"

"No. She's been nice to me." Alan straightened up a few degrees. "You didn't have to be so mean to her, she's kept me healthy."

"But I did," Eric corrected. "She should have told me about you. For your own safety."

"What do you mean, Sheriff?" Alan looked concerned.

"Well, suppose someone were to hurt you? How would I know to look for you?"

"What do you mean, hurt me?" Alan, Carly realized, was no more than a child, and he radiated fear as a child would.

"Eric," Carly interrupted them. "Could I ask Alan a question?"

Eric smiled at her, "Of course you can," and then he said meaningfully, "my child."

Although uncomfortable with the charade, Carly knew it was probably necessary for now. "How does she keep you healthy?"

"She feeds me and tests my blood every day." Alan smiled. "It doesn't even hurt that much when she does it."

Esther yelled again, "Shut up, Alan, you stupid fuck."

Within a second, Eric was back at her throat. "If you speak once more, I will tear out your throat. Be silent."

"Okay," Esther whimpered.

Eric turned calmly to Alan, "you must know Sebastian, yes?"

Alan nodded. "Yes."

"So do you know that Sebastian is selling vampire blood to humans?"

Alan shook his head and looked pained."No, I didn't know that. Why would he want to do that?"

Eric returned to his guidance counselor affect, "That's an excellent question. Do you know Shreveport at all well, Alan?"

"No. I came here from New Orleans. And I'm really from Houston. I was just visiting there when I met..." Alan couldn't bring himself to say Edgar's name.

"It's a terrible shame when a maker exacts silence from his progeny. He should be proud to present them to the world." Eric shook his head sympathetically. "Unless he intends for them to be disposable."

"Disposable?" Alan quaked.

"Yes, I fear so." Eric stood up and walked to the window and dialed his phone. "Pam? Yes, I need you to come to the Industrial Lofts with the panel van." Carly heard a pause. "I know you hate driving it. But that's too bad. We need to..." Eric looked at Alan. "Take custody of an abandoned child." Eric looked over at Esther, still writhing under the chain. "And a prisoner."

Eric hung up the phone and walked over to Carly. "Sweetheart, do you think you can drive my car?"

Carly nodded. "Where do you want me to go?"

"Go home and wait for me." He gave her his keys and kissed her sweetly on the forehead. "I'll be along shortly."

Carly walked out onto the street and tried to get her bearings. She had a good sense of direction, but realized that she hadn't paid attention to the direction in which they'd flown. After looking around carefully, she knew that they'd been behind the building and two blocks away.

As she walked, she wondered if she'd turned into a vampire and just hadn't realized it. Carly saw a convenience store one block east and walked to it. The place looked like one of those convenience stores that show up on "American's Stupidest Criminals," one of those places where the windows are covered in wrought iron and the employees have shotguns and grenades strapped to their sides. The cooler had a very small section of non-alcoholic drinks, but also carried Tru Blood. She brought a bottle of her favorite soda and a bottle of Tru Blood to the counter, and the employee, sheltered behind bullet-proof glass glared at her.

"You need both of these?"

"Yeah." By way of explanation, Carly said. "The soda's for me, the blood's for a friend."

"Wish the owner wasn't carrying this shit. I don't really want that kind in the store when I'm working alone."

"That kind's waiting for me at home." Carly said resentfully, "I'm in your store."

The transaction completed, although angrily on both sides, Carly walked back to Eric's car. She didn't want to open either beverage in the Corvette. The last thing she wanted to do was spill anything in Eric's immaculately kept car.

Carly opened the Tru Blood, sniffed it, and, although repulsed, took a tiny taste. She thought she would vomit, so she put the cap back on. Then she opened the soda and drank it down thirstily and with tremendous relief.

"Not a vampire," she said aloud. "Good."

Once back at the guest house, Carly let herself in and fell on the couch. The events of her first day of work were so far distant that she felt as if they'd been lived in another lifetime. Between the time when she laid hands on Greta and Brian, who lay cold and mangled in a municipal morgue, she'd had a pleasant dinner, liberated a human from being fed upon by two vampires, and then calmly and quietly assisted her boyfriend as he tortured them. Her greatest discomfort, however, came from the realization that she'd glamoured that human, forced her will upon him and made him forget what had happened to him, and that the vampires seemed to recognize her as one of their own kind.

Carly closed her eyes, trying to push away her confusion, and fell asleep without warning.

The smell of garlic suffused her surroundings, and she felt happy, light-hearted. Carly could tell she'd been laughing, but she didn't know what was so funny. She sat in a kitchen that would be described as sunny during the daytime, at an old Formica kitchen table that was covered in dishes and an empty pizza box. A hand rubbed her neck and she looked up to see Brian, whose stretched out earlobes swung back and forth while he laughed. Then she heard the house door open, and she turned her head.

A slight, dark-haired girl stood in the doorway to the kitchen, while a taller, paler man with a large sketchpad in his hand, stood behind her. Carly recognized Anna, and knew that she must be seeing the world, the last moments of the world, from Greta's perspective. She heard herself say, "Hey, Anna, Alex just went out to get you. What are you doing here? You better call him."

Then the dark haired man was next to her and had her by the hair. "Greta," he said, "Anna's here, because the two of you betrayed me. I told you and this idiot of yours to keep quiet." Brian was on the floor, but she didn't know how he'd gotten there. He was rolling to stand up, saying "What the hell, Sebastian? Nobody fucking betrayed you."

Then Anna spoke mechanically, "You talked to Carly about the 'V'. Sebastian told you to be quiet until he was ready for full production."

Sebastian let go of her hair, and Carly felt her head lurch forward. "Please, he didn't say anything. He just asked if she'd heard about of it. He didn't say anything else."

Sebastian kicked Brian in the stomach, and then she felt a sharp pain across her face. "I told you to be silent about it. You scared her off, and I wanted her." Sebastian kicked Brian again-she knew from the sound-and said, and when I went to claim her, Eric Fucking Northman had been in her apartment, and she was fucking gone!"

She cried, and begged, "Please, Sebastian, I'm sorry. She likes Alex a lot, she'll come over to see him. We'll get her for you. We promise."

"No," the sound went through her. "She told Anna she never wants to see either of you stupid assholes again. She only wants to hang out with Anna, during the fucking day, so I can't get her." His voice cracked. "You idiot human, if you knew how she smelled," he sucked in air, "you would have strapped her down right then, cut her open, and sucked out her blood yourself."

Carly wanted out desperately. To hear herself spoken of this way chilled her and drew her consciousness out of Greta's mind, separating her enough from the scene to fill her with terror. She wanted out but couldn't rise, so she screamed, "I am not a piece of meat! I am not a sack of blood!" She heard nothing, just silence, and Greta's weeping. Brian was unconscious on the floor at her feet.

"Anna. Smash in their heads. At least something good can come from this stupidity."

Panic. "What? Sebastian, please, no. I promise." She saw Anna come toward her with a claw hammer while Sebastian positioned himself with the sketchpad. "What are you doing, Sebastian?"

"Drawing." As pain and blood swept over and through her, Greta saw a flurry of Anna's assaulting arm and Sebastian's rapid movements.

Carly's eyes opened, and she saw Eric, but she couldn't speak to him, even though he held her tightly, and whispered to her, "Carly, wake up."

She felt her hands on soft flesh, and felt love, and then fear, and anger rolled over her, but she was him, was Brian. Then an unbearable pain bored through his belly, and he squirmed until more agony spread from his abdomen, stealing his breath and submerging everything in darkness, punctuated by sharp strikes against his head, and then oblivion.

"Carly, wake up." Eric kissed her forehead gently, "Speak to me."

"I'm okay," Carly croaked roughly. "I died with Greta, and then Brian, but I was awake when I was in Brian—I could see you, but I couldn't talk."

Eric picked her up and carried her into the bathroom.

Carly protested, "I'm okay."

Eric resisted her efforts to get out of his grip, but finally relented.

"Just let me wash my face and pee."

"Fine," Eric crossed his arms, "but I'm not leaving you."

Once she felt more like herself, Carly took his hand, and walked back into the living room. "We have to talk about some things."

"Yes."

"Do you know what's happening to me?"

"No. But I don't know what you are."

"Eric, you keep saying that. What do you mean? I'm human, I'm just a little different."

Eric embraced her and said, "Carly, you need to understand. Humans can't do the kinds of things you do. They can't read minds, they can't dream themselves into other peoples lives or deaths, and they certainly can't glamour people."

Carly started crying, "What can?"

"I have a few ideas, but I'm not certain, Carly." He kissed her gently, "And I have to be careful whom I ask, for your sake."

They sat together for a few minutes, and then Eric said, "Carly, I made you a promise last night that I would like, very much, to keep. Do you remember?"

Carly experienced a sensation that she couldn't describe entirely; it was almost ask if her body caught fire and broke open. She wanted, desperately, to fill the resulting canyon within her with Eric and never move again. She giggled.

"What?" Eric smiled and kissed her again.

"I think I just felt lust, and lots of it," Carly smiled at him and kissed him. "Don't we need to do a tour of the cellar, too?"

"Oh, yes, I nearly forgot."

They climbed the stairs down the cellar and went through a heavy curtain halfway down. Four steps further, they went through another heavy curtain, and the cellar opened before them. The wine shelves had been consolidated, and a king sized bed sat in the cleared space.

Carly started laughing hysterically.

"What," Eric looked at her, "is it too much? Would you have preferred something dirtier?"

He pushed her down on the bed, "I thought about slings and chains, but they're so cliched, don't you think? Plus, I'm strong enough to hold you down, if I want to."

The vision of Eric driving a silver dagger into Alan's face came back to her, and she felt herself cower slightly under Eric. He rolled off her quickly and apologized.

"I'm sorry, Carly." He kissed her. "I don't want you to be frightened of me."

"But you are terrifying. You have to be. I understand that." She traced the muscles of his shoulders into his chest. "How could you be otherwise?"

"Do you fear me?" He pulled back from her slightly.

She closed the distance between them and kissed him and said, "Yes. But I want you more." She sat up, rather than kissing him again, or taking off her clothes and throwing herself at him, both of which she considered as appropriate responses to how she felt. Instead of doing either, she asked "Do they still think I'm a vampire too?

"I'm not certain exactly why they thought you were to begin with, although they saw you glamour that man." Eric smiled, "We tend to feel proprietary about that ability."

"Shouldn't they have smelled me or felt my heart beating?"

"They were probably too distracted by the pain of being silvered." Eric shrugged and said mildly, "It's really excruciating pain. It's what I imagine being branded feels like. I can only assume that it confused them, because you're not a vampire."

"I know. I tried some Tru Blood to see if I could drink it." Carly made a face like she'd eaten a sour pickle. "I couldn't."

"I make that face too, when I drink it." Eric smiled at her, but Carly still felt serious.

"What will happen to Alan and Esther?"

Eric sat up as well, seemingly ready to discuss business rather than to make love to her. "Pam will, to her unhappiness, care for Alan until we can go before the Queen. Unfortunately for you and me, the Queen wants both of us there when Edgar is called to account for himself. Esther will remain in my custody until that time as well. Esther is seventy-five years old, but hasn't lived with her maker for fifty, which is somewhat unusual."

"How long were you with Godric?" Carly didn't know how much Eric would tell her about his maker, but she wanted to hear as much as he'd share.

"I was with him for five hundred years until I first went on my own." Eric held her hand and traced the pattern of her veins with the tip of his finger. "We've traveled together at times over the last five hundred. Most recently we were together during the two European wars."

"Where was Pam?"

"I left her in Paris during both of them. She enjoys the city, particularly the clothes, and she does a wonderful job running brothels." Eric laughed. "But Godric and I were...looking for someone."

Carly didn't press for more information. "So a maker who sends his children away after twenty years?"

"Isn't a good maker. Few vampires are, really." Eric crossed his legs. "Many make progeny on a whim, because they want company, or praise, or are lazy and want someone else to work or hunt for them. After a few years, they realize they don't particularly enjoy their progeny's company and send them away. Vampires like that can have hundreds of progeny, although usually few survive such neglect for long."

"How many children do you have?"

"Just Pam." Eric smiled and said, "for now."

Carly needed to redirect the conversation before Eric decided that she passed so well as a vapire she might as well become one. "Sebastian," Carly closed her eyes and thought carefully about how to describe her dream, "'wasn't ready for production' of vampire blood. And he was angry because he wanted me and thought they had driven me away; and he knows that you were with me."

"How? He's never presented himself to me."

"Maybe Sebastian's not his real name? Maybe it's an alias."

Eric thought for a moment and began to laugh. "A thousand years and I can still be a fool, can't I?"

"Let me draw him," Carly moved toward the stairs, "and maybe you can recognize him."

"Wait," Eric motioned for her to come back to him. "I want to tell you something."

Carly walked back over to the bed and took the hand that Eric extended toward her. "No matter what, please keep what you can do to yourself. Only share it with me. If you tell anyone else, you could put yourself at risk, and I don't want to see you hurt."

"I won't." Carly began to feel guilty as she climbed the stairs. She still hadn't told Eric about Sookie, and the longer she kept the secret, the guiltier she felt.

When she returned with her sketchbook and pencils, she debated whether she should tell him and decided that it was best for her to be honest with him.

As she drew "Sebastian," she opened the topic gently. "We've had so little time together where we've been able to talk about everything that's happened since I left you in Memphis."

"Yes, I never asked you about your visit to the sticks." Eric leaned onto his side. "What did you think of Bon Temps. Did it have anything else to offer besides the shifter and the bayou?"

"I think I may have made a friend."

Eric laughed at her. "I hope this one doesn't plan on bludgeoning anyone soon."

"That isn't kind, Eric." Her resolve to tell him about Sookie shook slightly, but she gathered her strength back up and began talking about her. "I met a waitress who seems to be telepathic too, although she has very poor control of her abilities and seems to suffer a great deal."

"Really?" Eric tried to restrain his interest, but Carly believed his imagination was already working.

"I don't want to share you, Eric." Carly spoke bluntly and to the point.

"Carly," Eric teased, "don't you have any imagination? Two women who could read each other's mind would be so much fun to have around."

"Stop, Eric." Carly's face wore an expression of hurt and anxiety that could be read at any distance.

"I'll stop. But she's in Bon Temps?"

"Yes. And her family invited me to Sunday dinner next week. And I'm going to go, by myself. It's during the daytime." Her tone signaled defiance and independence, and it made Eric smirk slightly.

"I'm glad you're going." Eric looked at her carefully. "You can look for commonality, shared heritage, and such. Perhaps you're related, perhaps someone in her family knows what she is and can share that information with you."

Carly chuckled, "I doubt it." She finished her sketch of the dark-haired vampire she saw through Greta's and Brian's eyes, and turned the pad to face Eric. "Does this ring any bells?"

Eric grabbed the pad. "Yes. Bastard. This is Edgar's oldest progeny. We've crossed paths, and swords, a few times. I thought he was in Europe." Eric started to laugh. "I guess the name is his idea of a joke."

"Why?"

"The last time I saw him, I nailed him to a tree and used him for target practice. I shot him full of silver-tipped arrows." Eric smiled broadly. "Hit every target I wanted and left him there for the sun. Some fool—whom he promptly drained—set him free."

"Why did you do that, Eric?"

"Would you believe I don't actually remember?"


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

"Do you want to remember?" Carly asked tentatively.

Eric smiled at her. "Are you asking if I want you to go poking around in my life?"

"I guess so."

"No, I'll remember if I think about it for a while. It really wasn't that long ago, just three hundred years ago."

Carly laughed. "And of course, everyone carried a quiver of silver arrows three hundred years ago."

A blank look passed across Eric's face, and he said, "No, we didn't."

"So that's significant, isn't it?" Carly tried to draw his memory to the surface.

He closed his eyes tightly, and a scowl grew across his face. "Yes." When Eric opened his eyes, Carly could see disgust.

"Yes, I remember. I was commanded to do it." Eric motioned for her to come closer to him, and he drew Carly into his lap. "Do you want to hear?"

"I think so." She kissed his cheek but clarified, "Eric, is it too terrible?"

"I can't tell how you'll react. You'll probably think he deserved it."

Eric began his story with a deep sigh. "Godric called me to join him in Amsterdam, because he thought we might have a chance to travel to the new world." A smile appeared. "Godric has always been curious about the world, and he'd developed a relationship with a slave trader through a friend."

"Really?" Carly didn't want to think about Eric being involved in slave trading, but didn't understand why she thought that any worse than skewering vampires with silver daggers or silver arrows.

"Yes. Godric thought that a slave ship would provide us with the best transportation." Eric stroked her hair. "No one would blink about large chests held below deck, and we would have a ready supply of food for the journey." Eric kissed Carly's forehead, "Am I upsetting you?"

"No, it's just hard to remember how much brutality you've seen."

"And done, Carly. Don't forget that. Even though I can be gentle, I've done things you can't imagine." Eric cradled her head and turned it slightly to him. "And I would do horrible things to protect you."

Carly didn't know how to respond to that statement, so she just kept still and looked at him.

He began his story in earnest. "At that time, Amsterdam was a trading hub with ships going all around the world. It was a republic, so it drew refugees from around the world. At the time, the most powerful vampire in the city was Gaulish, and a distant kinsman of Godric's. They'd spent a considerable amounttt of time together while Godric and I were apart, and Charles—I don't think I ever learned his real name—had made a great deal of money as an investor in the triangle trade, slaves, gold, and sugar. He wanted to meet me before Godric and I left for the new world."

"Have a family reunion?" Carly asked.

"Of a sort. I think he wanted to be around vampires who weren't his dependents. Edgar Martin is from his line, I don't know how many degrees, but he was in Charles's court."

"Sebastian's maker?"

"Sebastian's real name is Christophe. He was an artist that Edgar turned, because he decided there needed to be a portrait artist to the vampire monarchs of Europe. Christophe was one of Rembrandt's students when he was a human."

"Wow. I hadn't thought about that. Abdullah might have artists in his show who studied with Rembrandt, or Michelangelo." The historical resources that vampires could offer astonished Carly, but she also wondered how their memories worked and how accurate they could be, since Eric seemed to struggle to recover memories.

"Unfortunately, Christophe lacked the discipline that his human master had, and Edgar, as you already know, is a fickle maker. Christophe struggled to retain Edgar's attention, constantly attempting more ambitious projects that usually remained unfinished." Eric seemed to tire with the effort of recollection. "Christophe took one of Charles's pets." Eric kissed Carly's hairline gently and said, "Charles's fury grew unmanageable when he discovered that Christophe had painted a fresco with her blood."

"That's awful. How could you get that much blood from a dog or cat?"

Eric smiled sweetly, but ruefully. "A human pet, Carly. A human whom he fed upon and fucked. She was beautiful and," Eric licked his lips, "very sweet."

"You fed and..." Carly couldn't say it, so the word remained unsaid. "From her?"

"Yes. Charles shared her with Godric and me to show us how much he honored our presence." Eric shrugged, "He'd forbidden all others from tasting her, and Edgar and Christophe were offended. Christophe painted a biblical scene—one of the plagues of Egypt. Charles wanted him to suffer, so he left punishment to Godric. Charles thought he would kill him too quickly. Godric thought it appropriate, since he chose a religious image, that he suffer pain worthy of religious representation."

"Why did Godric choose St. Sebastian?" Carly asked.

"Sebastian is supposed to be a defense against the plague. When Godric and I traveled through Europe in the 14th century, we often saw rough carvings of Sebastian on doors or door posts. People did anything to keep the plague away. Unfortunately, we usually focused on those houses, because the people were still healthy."

"So if people hadn't died of the plague, they died because of the two of you?" Carly asked.

"Sometimes. More likely they died of the plague because we weakened them." Eric shrugged again. "It was a bleak time, and there were few people who were healthy. So many were hungry or sick. We had difficulty feeding ourselves, until we got further north where the plague wasn't as severe."

"Why did it fall to you to kill Christophe?" Carly wanted to banish the image of Eric hunting during the plague years.

"Godric formulated the punishment, but prefers to kill quickly and mercifully. He also wanted me to have an opportunity to impress Charles, because he could be an important patron." Eric's description of the events emphasized the most pragmatic elements over the most gory. "I punished Christophe, and left him pinned to the tree. Just before dawn, Charles loaded us onto a slaver, and we departed."

"When did you learn Christophe had escaped?"

"Not until World War I, when we saw Charles for the last time. Charles had been looking for him, but couldn't find him. Edgar refuses to produce him and claims that he's dead." Eric looked wistful and sad. "Unfortunately Charles moved to Dresden between the wars, and he hasn't been seen or heard from since the fire-bombing. Godric still grieves for him."

Strangely, Carly grieved too, even though she didn't want to know why Charles had moved to Dresden, where he probably helped to run a munitions factory, or a death-camp. Concentration camps or prisoner of war camps would be like dairy farms for vampires.

"What do you think of the story, Carly?"

Carly thought for a moment. "So Christophe is angry with you now because you got the tasty bit again, and he got left out?"

Eric smiled and said, "But he won't be able to harm you. I promise."

"Do you keep your promises, Eric Northman?"

"I still have my promise of last night to keep." Eric brought her down on top of him, "and the story has enlivened my appetite. I don't feel like being gentle."

Carly drew herself up to his mouth, rubbing herself against him. "But you don't want to break your toy so soon after getting it, do you?"

Eric laughed and flipped them over so that he lay on top of her. "Oh no, I'll take my time, first unwrapping you. You'll last for a good long time." He undressed both of them quickly, without tearing anything, and then they started to move together in unison, their mouths seeking out one another, until Carly felt they were beginning to blend into one being. Once he was pressed inside her, that feeling of merging was complete, and she surrendered herself to it, savoring the oblivion it provided. They shared blood with one another, and she lost any sense of time or space or self.

Hours later, an alarm sounded, and she scurried to find it and turn it off. Wisely, someone had put it on the other side of the room, so she had to get out of bed and awaken, rather than slumping back into bed. Although she'd probably not slept more than an our or two, she felt energetic and refreshed. She climbed on top of Eric to see if she could stir him, kissed his face and neck, and roused him only enough for him to say, "Carly." She kissed his mouth gently and put on enough of her clothes to be decent. She thought to herself that she'd need to make sure she had a bathrobe for the cellar, since she guessed she'd be sleeping there from now on. Even if Eric left her at dawn, she wouldn't want to move back upstairs after they'd been together.

Carly's day passed in much the same way the previous had, although she began working with the highest priority set of remains, those of a fourteen year old girl, most likely African-American, who had been found on the northern edge of Caddo county earlier in the summer. The remains were entirely skeletalized when they'd been found, and predation had been extensive, so they may have been there a year or more. The mandible was missing, so Carly's talents would be helpful in getting a sense of the subject's appearance.

Her last few days, and her intense experiences within Eric, Pam, Anna, Greta, and Brian, still lingered in her mind, and she knew she needed time before she inhabited another dead person; the hangover from her dreams reminded her to keep her vinyl gloves on and to avoid touching the bones with uncovered skin. Instead, she did everything conventionally, as any other forensic artist would. After taking measurements of the skull, pelvis, and long bones, Carly did some math to calculate estimates of the girl's body mass, both muscle and fat. All the supplies Carly needed to make a cast of the skull were available, and she went ahead and made the cast, which needed time to cure. By lunch, she was finished with that part of the task. Her afternoon was spent examining the case files and the sparse physical evidence from the the crime scene. On her way out of the building, the security guard flagged her down.

"Dr. Michael. We got a package delivered for you about twenty minutes ago. There wasn't an answer in the mail-room, so I just held onto it." The guard handed her a legal-sized rigid express mail envelope.

"Thanks. I forgot about this—it was supposed to arrive yesterday." Carly decided that she didn't have the courage to open the envelope, full of Edgar Martin's bloody, vulgar art until Eric awoke.

Carly returned home via the grocery store, because she wanted more fresh fruit and something light to eat for dinner before Eric woke up and they examined the photographs together. She had no idea what they were going to look like, but their arrival reminded her of Abdullah. She wondered if he had any idea about her abilities, about what her mother had shared with him over the years. He'd always talked about her as his "gifted friend," but she didn't know if he had any real sense about the extent of her "gifts." Eric cautioned her the night before about the danger of disclosing her abilities, and she believed him. She would have to find a way to pump Abdullah for information without sharing any information about herself.

"Abdullah?" Carly asked when she heard him answer the phone.

"Carly, my sweet friend." Abdullah prided himself on his recollection for voices, so Carly wasn't surprised that he recognized her. "How is Louisiana?"

"Strange," Carly replied. "I don't think I bargained on just how strange it is. Memphis seems really normal by comparison. Although I haven't looked at your pictures yet. New York might be stranger."

"Please, try not to be alone when you look at them. I fear you might have nightmares."

"I won't."

"Did you want to speak with your mother? She's out tonight with her cousin Ann—they're at a benefit."

"No, Abdullah, I actually wanted to speak with you. I'm glad you're home."

"Oh," Abdullah exclaimed, "I'm exhausted. This show is killing me, and these vampires just show up at the gallery and want to talk with me. But I know, thanks to you my sweet, that they can't bother me here." He chuckled. "I'm accustomed to hiding from my artists, but never before was I afraid they'd eat me! Murder me, rape me, bankrupt me, yes. But eat? That's a different fear."

"They don't drink Tru Blood?" Carly wondered if any vampires actually consumed the stuff.

"They say they do, but they look at people so longingly. It's very frightening." Abdullah changed the subject slightly, "Don't you feel as if your Mr. Northman will eat you alive, or do you not mind so much, eh?"

"Abdullah!" Carly was shocked that he'd tease her that way.

"Oh, Carly, do you know how long I've waited for you to have a little romance in your life?" He laughed loudly on the other side of the phone. "You have to give an old man a little vicarious excitement."

"Fine, but please, I'm still getting used to the idea. I'm not comfortable talking about it quite yet."

"You're probably not terribly comfortable sitting either."

"Abdullah. Stop." Carly cut him off.

"Okay. I'll be good." Abdullah sounded chastened. "What did you want to talk about?"

"The art you've been buying for a while," Carly didn't quite know where to start her questions. "The art's had occult themes, right?"

"Yes." Abdullah became serious again. "The city wanted vengeance after the attacks, and I wanted to give them an outlet other than trying to kill people who looked like me. Avenging angels and the like seemed like a good idea for the gallery."

"I understand. Do you ever have people in the gallery who claimed to be able to do things..." Carly stumbled again, looking for words. "Who said they were telepathic or telekinetic?"

"Who said they could read minds, like you, Carly?"

"So mom's told you about it." Abdullah answered that question.

"Oh yes, Carly, she has. I hope you're not offended."

"No, I'm not. You're very close." Carly didn't really have any idea of how close they were or not.

"I'm glad it's okay for me to know your secret. And it will remain a secret." Abdullah addressed her real question. "Some people have claimed such powers, but I haven't believed them. One woman, however, definitely can, but I can't seem to keep track of her. She comes to the gallery periodically, although the last time she came in she told me that she wouldn't be coming to the vampire show."

"Did she say why?"

"She told me that she didn't mix with vampires, for her own safety."

"Abdullah," Carly wondered how she was going to ask about the woman's smell. "Does she seem to smell strange to you?"

"Not strange, no. I've asked her several times about her perfume. It's so light," Abdullah giggled, "but my little monsieur goes crazy whenever she's been in the gallery."

"Little Monsieur" was Abdullah's tiny dog, a cross between two unbelievably ugly dogs who had found each other some dark night and then abandoned their even uglier puppies months later.

"What does he do?" Carly wondered if vampires could smell as well as dogs.

"Oh, he surrenders. He falls on his back and then rubs against me. He won't leave me alone for the evening. And then when I've showered, he looks betrayed, and whines around the house like he's looking for a lost friend." Abdullah laughed. "It makes me feel very unloved."

"Why do you think she can read minds?" Carly asked.

Abdullah didn't reply right away, "I don't know. Whenever I speak with her, I just feel she responds to the questions I wanted to ask rather than the questions I really asked."

Carly recognized that impulse; sometimes she feared she was doing that to people when she talked to them. "Do you know how to get in touch with her?"

"No," Abdullah said sadly, "I don't have a phone number or address. She always pays cash and then has her own courier pick up the art. I've never had to arrange a delivery. She does prefer sculpture over two dimensional art."

The disappointment was almost overwhelming for her. "Can I ask you another question?"

"Of course, Carly." Abdullah's voice was sympathetic and accommodating. "You know that I will do anything I can for you, for your mother."

"Yes, I know." She paused. "Do you believe in creatures other than vampires and humans? Do you think that there are other things out there?"

"Oh, I'm sure." Abdullah got very excited. "I'm certain that there are shape-shifters of some sort, if not were-wolves than something like that. And creatures of fire and light-Arabs call them djinn, Europeans would probably call them fairies."

"Tinkerbell?" Carly giggled. "The Jinn of the _Thousand and One Nights_ were much more intimidating than Tinkerbell, Abdullah."

"I don't know anything about Peter Pan, but a friend of mine did a painting of a Banshee, who is said to be a kind of fairy, and she frightened me to death. They're supposed to see fate and announce it before it happens."

"So they're connected to death."

"Yes, Carly, but they see death before it happens. Not after."

"I guess I'm not a Banshee then..." Carly chuckled. "One less thing for me to worry about."

Carly heard the cellar door open and watched Eric stroll toward her.

"Abdullah, it was great to talk with you, but I have to go. Thank you for talking to me."

They said their goodbyes, and Eric asked, "Your mother's gallery friend?"

"Yes. Did you sleep well?"

Eric kissed her and said, "I had a very nice lullaby." Eric was persistent in asking about her conversation with Abdullah. "What did you discuss?"

"I asked him," Carly feared Eric would think she disobeyed him, "because he knows about me already, and what I can do, since he's an old friend, and lives with my mom..."

"But you only learned that tonight," Eric smirked, "I'm guessing."

"Eric, I didn't tell him what I can do..."

"Sweet child, don't worry." He embraced her, "I know you're sensible. How did you ask him?"

"I asked him, since he knows a little about the occult, if he'd ever met anyone telepathic or telekinetic, and he said, 'Like you.' He explained that my mom had told him about me."

"And, what was his response?" Eric seemed curious to know what she'd learned from Abdullah.

"That he knew a woman who seemed able to read his mind and that his dog always fawned over him when she'd visited, like she smelled particularly good."

"Really?" Eric touched her chin.

"I also asked him about other kinds of creatures, besides vampires and humans."

Eric kissed her gently. "And what did he tell you?"

Carly embraced him, because he was clearly trying to entice her into physical contact, and reported, "He thought that shape-shifters were real, which I know is true, and that creatures of "light and fire" were real." She kissed Eric on the throat, "And then we talked about fairies for a while."

Eric pushed her to arms length, "Fairies? And what did you conclude from your conversation?"

His seriousness startled her. "Eric? You're not saying that I could actually be a fairy?"

"We must discuss some things." Eric took her hand and led her to the couch. Once there, Eric didn't speak, he just held her hand to his lips.

"We're not discussing."

After more silence, Eric finally said, "What do you know about fairies?"

Carly shook her head, "Nothing. Ask me about Kachinas, or about draugar, those I know a little about, but just a little. Cultural anthropology wasn't my thing."

"You're sleeping with a draugr," Eric smiled.

"I guess you are an animated dead body. I hadn't thought about what you'd be called in Norse."

"So tell me about kachinas."

"They're spirits. They can be for anything," Carly enjoyed the opportunity to talk about something she knew about. "They represent the life force in everything, and they can be protective, sometimes they're ancestors, or prophetic. The Zuni think they live among the dead and will return to earth to usher in a new age."

"They sound to me," Eric said, "much like angels, or fairies, or nature spirits in Europe."

"I guess so. But they keep separate from people." Carly grappled with the suggestion that she could be something very different, something non-human, or only partially human. "If you're right, and I'm something else, something non-human, how did that happen? I'm from one of the oldest families in New York. There are genealogies that trace my family back to wool merchants in Amsterdam," Carly looked at Eric with a sudden realization. "You were in Amsterdam when my ancestors were there. You could have met them, or fed from them."

"Nearly any American of European ancestry could say the same thing." Eric shrugged at her. "But your father. He wasn't a Knickerbocker, as I recall. That was part of the scandal, wasn't it?"

Carly hated to talk about her father, because she had no real memory of him. The only image that she had of him was from the oil portrait that had been painted of their little family. There were hardly any good pictures of him; they always seemed to turn out badly, overexposed, or blurry, as if he always moved at exactly the wrong moment. And then there was his death and disappearance.

"A little bit, but my mother's family tolerated him. Uncle Benjamin really liked him and used to tell stories about how funny he could be, although Ben called him changeable."

"Carly, tell me what happened." Eric looked at her sternly, and it made her very uncomfortable. "You are as much your father's daughter as your mother's."

"They met in Toronto, and a few days after meeting, they went to Niagara Falls and married. By the time my mom got back to New York, she was pregnant with me." Carly grabbed her purse from the coffee table and pulled out the small copy of the portrait that she carried with her. "Here's what he looked like."

"A handsome man," Eric commented. "I can see how any woman would fall madly in love with him in just a few days, although he's no where nearly as handsome as I am." He kissed her cheek.

"You're playing the egotist now?" Carly couldn't help but laugh at Eric, who couldn't even seem to share the floor with a dead man without being recognized as the more attractive. "They were happily married for almost three years. Right after my second birthday, he had a visitor, and he fell from the window and died. The visitor disappeared, and no one knew who he was. My mom thinks someone pushed my dad."

"Your townhouse is tall enough for a fatal fall?"

"I don't know if the fall would have killed him if his landing had been different." Carly thought for a moment about the way that the newspaper described the scene: "Something out of the Exorcist." "My dad landed on a short wrought-iron fence that was around the townhouse. My mother saw his body on the fence, and so did the neighbors. But when they got outside, it was gone."

Carly started to cry. "The whole time I was a kid, it was like he didn't exist, not really. I had this old-fashioned portrait, but no snap-shots, no videos, just this weird story, no grave, no grandparents."

"An iron fence?"

"Yes. That's why they said it was like the Exorcist, because he was like the priest who was impaled on the fence."

"And then he was gone?"

"Yes, someone took his body." She looked at Eric and asked him, with desperation in her voice, "Who the hell does something like that?"

"Perhaps no one did. Perhaps he just blew away?"

"Are you crazy?" Carly was horrified that he could suggest something that seemed so foolish.

"No, I am entirely serious. You're sure that it was an iron fence?"

"Yes, why do keep harping on that?"

"Because iron is fatal to fairies."

"And sharp spikes are fatal for humans, Eric." Carly stood up and walked toward the window. "I don't know what you're thinking. No one could have survived being impaled on iron spikes."

"But only a fairy's body would turn to dust and blow away." Eric joined her by the window. "Did they find his clothes?"

Carly was nearly hysterical now. "I don't know. You'd have to ask my mom. She's the only person who would know, but she's out for the evening. She's at some benefit."

Eric pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent a text message.

"Who's that to?"

"Jacques. I'm asking him to have her call if he comes across her tonight." Eric put his arms around Carly and drew her close to him. "We need to know this before you meet the Queen."

"Why?"

"Because I need to protect you." Eric kissed her head and said, "There are old stories about fairies and vampires. I need to keep you safe, especially if you're half-fairy."

"Do I want to hear these stories tonight?"

"No."

"Terrific." Carly shook her head and looked over at the envelope. "Well, then let's look at some horrifying art instead."

Carly opened the envelope that enclosed copies of Edgar Martin's art. "I don't know if I want to look at these. I don't like blood and gore."

"Then just let me look at them." Eric picked up the envelope and walked across the room to the kitchen table, where he laid the photographs out one by one. He started laughing and said, "Well, Edgar hasn't changed much, although he's now added thief and liar to his repertoire."

Moving toward the table, Carly caught a glimpse of a horrific scene that looked as if it were composed of red ink. She realized that the ink was most likely blood. "Is that the plague of Egypt?"

"Yes." Eric picked up another photograph, "And a painting of St. Sebastian, also in blood, but with a slightly different model."

Carly looked at the painting with its familiar composition, the beautiful young man, naked, and pierced through with arrows. Carly noticed immediately, however, that the saint bore an uncanny resemblance to her favorite Viking.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

A/N I own nothing having to do with True Blood or SVM. I hope you enjoy the turn this has taken.

"Eric," Carly asked the tall Viking as he sorted through the pictures on the table, "when do we go to your Queen?"

"I would prefer to go sooner rather than later, so that we can seek her guidance." Eric shook his head as he read the notes on the backs of each of the pictures. "With the size of these paintings, he would need a great deal of blood, if this is all blood. I wish I knew more about art."

Carly had avoided looking at the paintings closely, but realized that her expertise could be useful to them. "These look like they're on canvas, not paper, which would be better if someone were to paint with blood—I know a few people do that. But blood by itself doesn't make a great pigment. It's too runny. I'd guess that he'd have to mix it with some kind of resin or fixative, and some areas of the painting look as if they have other pigments mixed in."

After grabbing a piece of scratch paper, Carly did some calculations. "If we assume blood works the same way as water in a tempera paint, I would guess he would need about eight liters, so about a person and three-fifths."

"Or one person over the course of several months."

"I guess, Eric, although people can't really donate that much that often."

"If they're expected to live." Eric stroked her hair. "I don't know if that's his intention."

"One thing is clear." Carly wrapped her arms around him. "He still remembers you well enough to be angry."

"Yes. That is clear." Eric cupped her head in his hand and raised it so that her lips could meet his. Once they'd kissed, Eric said, "I fear that he also covets what is mine. I want you to be with me so that I can keep you safe."

"Don't you have businesses to run? And criminals to...do something with?"

"Yes. I do. But there's a sofa at the club. You can rest, while I do some work. I'd like you to come with me, and then I'll get you back here so that you can sleep a few more hours before work."

"Okay. I won't argue. I really don't want to wind up on a canvas."

The two of them drove to Fangtasia and parked in the back next to Pam's pink Mercedes. Carly brought a pillow, blanket, book, and sketch pad in the club with her and assumed that she'd just make herself comfortable in Eric's office. When she got there, however, Pam was stretched out on the couch next to a young woman.

"Pamela!" Eric yelled.

"What?" Pam looked up at Eric dismissively. "I can't have a little fun?"

"Eric," Carly whispered. "I'm not offended. I'm not really tired. I'd like to draw for a while, if it's okay with you."

"Fine. Pam, you should be grateful Carly inspires mercy in me. Just clean the sofa off when you're done." Eric looked around the office. "Where's Alan?"

"I believe he's cowering in the corner of the room outside." Pam kissed her companion's neck.

"Why is he not with you?"

"He's handcuffed. He's not going anywhere."

"Pamela?"

"Yes, Eric," Pam was still dismissive.

"You shouldn't become a maker anytime soon." Eric shook his head and led Carly out into the bar. "This complicates issues slightly, Carly."

"Why?"

"I don't want to leave you alone with him."

"If he's handcuffed, he shouldn't be a risk to me." Carly also had an idea. "He might be willing to talk to me, since I can't threaten him that much."

Eric seemed to consider it. "Stay away from him. Perhaps you can get more information from him. Remember, I'm just downstairs."

"What's the highest priority?"

"Try to find out where we can find Sebastian, or who Edgar's other abandoned children are?"

"Sure."

Carly took a mental inventory of the main room of the nightclub. The new floor was down, and the framing for the small dance stage was done. Alan was on the floor, with his hands cuffed behind his back with silver handcuffs, which were secured to a metal support for a bar-stool. He didn't look terribly uncomfortable to Carly, but he seemed forlorn. One of the old bar-stools remained at the other end of the bar, so Carly perched herself on it.

"Hi, Alan." Carly spoke to the vampire, but he stayed silent.

"Fine, Alan, keep to yourself." Carly started sketching the bar, trying to imagine it full of vampires and vampire-groupies, but she couldn't get a sense of what Eric and Pam really intended the bar to look like once everything was finished. The outlines of the bar came together quickly, but the sketch was lifeless and boring, and she regretted the sofa's unavailability.

She noticed that Alan didn't make any sounds at all; he was as still and unmoving as a piece of furniture. Tuning into his mind, Carly heard a low-frequency hum that had few changes in amplitude. It was almost as if he were in some kind of stasis, especially since he hadn't responded to her or even looked at her. Just to distract herself, Carly began sketching, drawing automatically in response to Alan's mind. Her strokes were slow and even, but even though she expected nonsense or gibberish, she saw a pattern emerge in the drawing. Soon, the pattern became a face, and, as her pencil followed the signals of Alan's brain, the face became fully recognizable as that of a young woman in her early twenties.

"Alan," Carly snapped at him sharply to get his attention, and he looked at her. She held up the picture. "Who is this?"

"Susannah." Alan said her name quietly. "How did you do that?"

"It doesn't matter, Alan." Carly tried to sound as authoritative as possible. "Who is she?"

"She was my girlfriend."

"Did she live in Houston too?"

"Yeah." Alan was still nearly catatonic.

"Did she go with you to New Orleans?"

"Yeah."

"Where is she now?"

"Probably still there."

"Alan, is she still human?"

Alan shook his head back and forth. "Nah...Edgar had me drain her when I woke up, and then Esther buried them together."

"And you two were together in New Orleans for a little while?"

"Only a couple of days. But Edgar liked her." Alan started to cry. "I liked her a lot."

"Did Edgar have any other progeny while you were there?"

Alan looked at Carly and squinted, "What does that mean?"

"Did he make anybody else into a vampire while you were there?"

"Nah."

Carly realized that Alan required very specific questions in order to provide her with meaningful information.

"Were there any other vampires there that he'd made recently, or just other vampires?"

Alan went quiet again, so Carly decided to follow the same procedure she had earlier. Carly focused on the sound of the buzzing in his brain, which seemed to have the same contours, the same frequency and amplitude, but the sketching had a different pattern, and three distinct faces appeared. The first, she recognized—Christophe. The other two she didn't, and they looked fragile, lost. One was gender-ambiguous, so she couldn't tell if it belonged to a man or woman, the other was clearly that of a young woman, with dark straight hair, a small flattened nose, and broad cheekbones and forehead. If Carly's suspicions were correct, they too were being held somewhere against what will they still had, and bled daily or weekly.

Carly wondered what other information she could get from Alan, but couldn't think of anything terribly useful. Perhaps his ignorance and isolation was part of Christophe's strategy, as was having the epicenter of the trafficking in Eric's city, although that seemed foolish. Even if he hadn't been involved with Carly, Eric seemed willing to communicate and cooperate with human authorities to protect vampire interests. Finally, Carly decided that she might want to find out what other vampires Alan had encountered in New Orleans and Shreveport.

"Alan, I'm going to ask you one more question. Can you handle that?"

"Why?" He spoke up out of his catatonia.

"Because I want to find out why someone has made you suffer so much and what plan they had for you."

"It wasn't so bad until the sheriff came." Alan sounded pathetic. "He's the only one who hurt me. Everybody else let me eat and fuck as much as I wanted. He stabbed me right under my eye. It hurt a lot."

Carly understood Alan's resentment, but she also understood that the vampire world had rules, and he'd broken them. While it wasn't his fault, entirely, that he'd been on the wrong side of vampire law, he should be more committed to following it now that he knew about it. Carly also understood, now, that Alan was probably fairly slow when he was human, and vampires were only as much as their human lives prepared them to be.

"Alan, can you tell me what other vampires you met in New Orleans and in Shreveport?"

"I don't know remember any of their names. Some of them seemed kind of important."

"Really, can you tell me about them, Alan?"

"No." Alan closed his eyes and appeared to go to sleep.

As before, Carly started to sketch to the rhythm of his mind, but this time, the picture didn't form into a face, but into a place, an elaborate room, that looked a little like a Victorian solarium, filled with palm-trees and cast metal furniture. In one corner, a huge metal birdcage stood on a stand, and Carly's stomach turned as she watched the human figure within it take shape. "Charming."

Carly heard a heavy door open, and the sound of Eric's boots approaching, so she turned to face him, and gasped. He was covered in so much blood that a little trail of it followed behind him as he moved toward his office.

"Eric, are you okay?"

"A little frustrated, but I'm fine."

"Is Esther still alive?" Carly couldn't imagine that anyone could survive that kind of blood loss, whether they were human or vampire.

"Barely."

Eric went into the working bathroom, and Carly could hear the water running. After a few minutes, Eric emerged in his underwear. He asked, "Did Alan tell you anything useful?"

"Not in words, but I got some interesting pictures from him."

As Eric passed Alan, he kicked him in the throat. Carly covered her mouth and didn't know if she'd blocked the small scream or not.

"If he doesn't want to talk, he shouldn't be able to for a little while," Eric said bluntly. "What did you see?"

Carly showed him the pictures in the order in which she'd drawn them and explained their relationship to her questions. Eric didn't recognize any of the new vampires, but he seemed to stiffen when he saw the room.

"You recognize this place, Eric?" Carly asked.

"Yes." Eric shook his head. "As you will as well." Eric looked at her meaningfully, and Carly realized that the room must belong to his Queen.

"That's really not good, is it, Eric."

"No. Not at all. Although it gives me more ammunition to work with tomorrow when Esther's recovered from tonight's conversation.

"Is she awake?"

"Yes, although she's a mess." Eric seemed to anticipate what Carly was going to request. "I don't want you seeing her."

"Maybe I don't have to. Is there anywhere I can sit in the basement that's close to her but out of view?"

"Perhaps on the stairs?"

"Please let me try. Ask her about...this place, and Edgar, and the blood, and I'll try to tune into her."

"Carly, I can't ask her such a direct question. If she were to tell..." Eric drew his hand across his throat.

"I understand, Eric. But maybe you can ask her about Edgar and..." Carly didn't want to reveal what they knew, "about Sebastian. Or about the paintings."

"Okay. We can try."

Eric led them back to the basement, and pointed to the last stair before a turn. When he got to the bottom of the stairs, Carly heard Esther speak quietly.

"You promised you wouldn't come back tonight, Northman." Esther's voice shook with what sounded like panic. "You promised."

"Esther, I promised I wouldn't touch you again tonight, that I would let you heal."

Carly was astounded at how calmly Eric spoke given the rage that he seemed to carry with him when he came back upstairs.

"As you see, Esther, I'm not dressed properly for torture."

Eric laughed cruelly, and Carly winced.

"You recall my sweet, though, my sweet Carly?"

"Yes, your progeny. I remember her. I don't know why I'm surprised that a weird old vampire would make a weird new one."

Carly spoke up, "Why do you think I'm weird, Esther?"

"I'm suffering down here, and you want to talk about you, bitch?" Esther practically spat where Carly sat. "You don't smell right, and you're loud."

"I'll try to be quieter, then, so I don't upset you."

Eric took control of the conversation again, "Ladies, please. Carly is going to take notes, since we're just going to talk."

"I'm not going to tell you anything now either, Northman."

"Perhaps," Eric sounded resigned. "But I should have records to bring before the Magister."

Carly was so familiar with the sound of Eric's mind that she readily passed over it and went straight to Esther's. She immediately started sketching, even before Eric began asking questions.

To Carly's surprise, the picture that formed was the face of a beautiful woman who looked as if she could have been a World War II pinup. Her face was heart-shaped, and Carly could swear that she could see bright red hair, even in the pencil sketch. As the rest of the picture emerged, Carly knew that this woman must be the Queen, because the birdcage hung in the background.

"Eric," Carly didn't know how to formulate her statement. "Can you come here?"

The longer Carly sketched, the angrier and more gluttonous the face got, a range of expressions passing through her pencil, from greed to fear, to immense longing.

Eric climbed the stair and looked at the drawing over Carly's shoulder. "Carly, will you stop drawing the dress you want to wear before the queen?"

Unable to contain the impulse, Carly tore the picture off her pad violently and began drawing again, faster, and she knew, without even consciously hearing Esther's thoughts that sound of the queen's title terrified her, that what Carly would draw would be a scene not of what Esther had seen but of Esther's worst fears. Carly drew a scene where Esther knelt before the queen and a man, "Edgar?"

"Yes," Eric confirmed the identity of the face in the sketch.

And Edgar stood over her, crying, but with a stake in his hand, ready to plunge it into his daughter's breast.

"Esther," Eric asked gently, "why has Edgar threatened to execute you before the queen?"

"What?" Esther cried out. "How do you know about that, Sheriff?"

"Did you think I stopped our interview because I grew bored?" Eric descended back down to the basement floor to stand before Esther. "Did you think I have no sources? Answer the question?"

"I can't, Sheriff." Esther was crying and shaking.

Her mind blazed and the sound of panic, fear, desperation, abandonment resonated through Carly and into her pencil as it touched the sketchpad. Carly didn't understand, again, what the picture signified. It looked like cards, but she couldn't tell if they were playing cards, tarot cards, or business cards. They had a particular arrangement to them that suggested some coherent formulation, but she didn't recognize them, so she took a guess.

"A game?" Carly suggested to Eric and Esther. "He lost a game."

Esther screamed as if she were being tortured in some excruciating way.

Eric yelled up to Carly, "I didn't do that. I'm not touching her."

"I know. It's the game, Eric. Maybe Edgar lost a lot of money? Maybe she's the security on a loan?"

Eric asked, "Is that true, Esther?"

Esther screamed again, but then began whimpering pitiably.

"Esther," Eric sounded paternal. "I won't be able to protect you, you know that."

"Yes. I know Northman."

Carly was completely at a loss at the sudden change of topic.

"The only way you might be spared would be if you were able to give your testimony to the Magister."

"I know, Sheriff, but I don't think I can."

"Are you sworn to silence about Christophe?"

Esther cried out in pain.

"Eric," Carly interrupted. "Perhaps we can do a word association game?"

"What?" Now Eric appeared to be as confused as she had before.

"Esther, I'm going to say a pair of words. For example, when I say 'pain' it makes me think of 'yes'. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Esther whimpered, "I think I do."

"So just answer the first word that comes into your mind when I say the word."

"Okay."

Carly began with "Yes."

"Pain."

"No." Carly gave her another word.

"Speak."

"Cards." A third.

"Debt."

"Loan." Carly offered a final cue.

"Queen."

It was Eric's turn to interrupt. "Esther, has the Queen loaned Edgar money so that he may escape a large gambling debt?"

Esther was racked with visible pain. She contorted with its force and blood began to come out of her ears to join the rest of it that covered her body.

"Esther," Eric tried again, "has Edgar loaned the Queen money so that she can escape a large gambling debt."

"No," Esther whispered.

"One more, you poor thing." Eric spoke gently to her. "Is it true that the Queen does not know about Edgar's conspiracy with Christophe to harvest vampire blood."

A faint smile went over her lips. "Thank you, Sheriff Northman."

"You're welcome. Although you understand that you need to stay here until further notice. I will, however, transfer you to a coffin. I apologize that I will need to keep it locked." Eric turned to Carly, "Sweet, the refrigerator behind the bar is on. Could you bring me one of the donor jars?"

"Sure." Carly stood up. "Are there straws?"

"No, I'll release one hand long enough for her to drink."

Carly fetched the blue glass jar and looked for a bottle warmer, but didn't seen any. There were a few glasses and bowls, so she filled a bowl with hot water to get the chill off the blood. She kept swirling the jar around in the bowl as she walked down the stairs.

"I tried to warm it up a little, but it's not body temperature." Carly apologized to the naked, bloody vampire who hung by silver chains.

"Thank you," Esther seemed to have more life in her and less anger.

Eric released her right hand and let her drink. "Carly, at the back of the basement is a black coffin on a cart, and there should be a couple of moving blankets as well, the kind that go in the back of a van. Could you roll it over here, with the blankets."

Just as Eric had described, Carly found the coffin and the blankets. She tossed the blankets atop the coffin and rolled the entire thing toward the center of the room. Once nearer, she opened the coffin and saw that it was lined with silver. "Do the blankets go between her and the silver, Eric?"

"Yes, please." He spoke to Esther, "I apologize that I have to keep you weak, but I hope you understand. I need you to stay put, for your own good. It's really your only chance, and now mine as well."

"I understand, Sheriff." Esther finished the blood with one final gulp. "Could you hose me off, though? I hate feeling so sticky."

Carly saw a water tap and a hose, so she handed the hose to Eric and then turned on the tap when he directed.

Eric didn't release Esther entirely until she was in the coffin, but she made no move to do anything other than comply. If Carly understood all that had happened in Fangtasia, she guessed that Esther's only chance of survival was to stay on Eric's good side, since she'd effectively just sold her maker and the Queen of Louisiana down the river. Carly worried, deeply, where this left Eric, or Pam, or her, for that matter, since she seemed a target in this complicated conspiracy as well.

More than anything else, however, she really wanted to kick Pam off the couch and go to sleep.


	22. Chapter 22

A/N Thank you all for your support. I hope you enjoy this chapter. As always, I own nothing having to do with True Blood or SVM.

Chapter Twenty-Two

At six forty-five on Wednesday morning, Carly awoke entirely disoriented, without any sense of where she was or how she'd gotten there. She turned off her alarm and finally realized that she was in the cellar at her house. Eric was next to her, but she had no recollection whatsoever of how he'd returned her from the club. Her last memory assisting him as he wrapped a silver chain around Esther's coffin and padlocked it. She'd been exhausted and dispirited, because even without a clear sense of vampire politics, she understood that it was extraordinarily dangerous for Eric to have uncovered his Queen's role in a criminal conspiracy.

Carly showered, dressed and ate, and headed off to work, as if her life was normal. Bob, the morgue tech, was the only person in the office when she arrived, somehow, early.

"Hey Bob, why are you here so early?"

"The ME has an autopsy first thing this morning on a new arrival." Bob sipped his coffee and worried over a crossword.

"The police found someone last night?" Carly dreaded the answer, even though she realized she spent more time with the dead than the living these days.

Bob nodded, while he chewed on a donut. "Another hotel body."

"Another prostitute?"

He shrugged, "They don't know yet? This one had head and hands, but we still haven't run his prints."

"So this time it was a man?" Carly understood that vampires didn't maintain the same rigorous gender or sexual boundaries that humans did.

"Yeah, a really big guy, but I don't know how old." Bob shook his head, "It's hard to tell without skin."

"Yuck."

"Yeah. Pretty gross."

Carly went back to her work with the young girl's skull. The cast of the skull proper was finished, so she built the mount for it and began putting the skin spacers on the major skull coordinates for reconstruction. As she'd driven into work this morning, she'd wondered if anything had changed about her ability to work with bones. With the cast of the skull on her work table, she had no reason to have the real one out, so Carly retrieved one of the girl's phalanges. It was small enough so that Carly could hold it in her own hand as she worked. Perhaps she'd even take it home to see what happened.

After applying all the spacers to the skull cast, Carly's working hand began to cramp, so she decided to take a break and go outside for some air. At one point in graduate school, Carly had started smoking, but she soon realized that the habit only provided her with an excuse to leave the lab, so she quit and took up walking instead.

The environment outside the medical examiner's office was bleak, flat, dry, with all the features of urban decay that afflict small southern cities. Unlike places like New York, where, once upon a time, industries and cities had invested in infrastructure and architecture, so many southern cities were cobbled together without coherent zoning laws or clear architectural standards, so the store-fronts of downtown Shreveport held together haphazardly, some with low roofs, some with run-down fences that separated small passageways from the street.

As Carly took in her surroundings, she suddenly felt as if she was displaced in time, as if she were walking at night, near a field, only she couldn't tell exactly what was growing there. Perhaps it was cotton, she thought, although it didn't look like the cotton fields she saw sometimes in rural Tennessee and Arkansas. Mobile homes were pinned between the field and tall pine trees, and she heard the crunch of gravel behind her as large wheels rolled over an unpaved road.

She heard someone speak to her as she walked, and she responded, but she couldn't make out the words, they were so muted by street noise that drowned out the sounds Carly heard in this liminal space between two times, two places, a hallucinated world superimposed upon the downtown Shreveport street she walked on that last week before Labor Day.

Carly turned her head toward the Shreveport street and saw the image of a truck, ghostlike, with the moon's reflection in the slightly lowered window. The moon provided just enough light that Carly could see her subject's face reflected. The girl had a small jaw, that drew to a point, entirely unlike what her ethnic markers had predicted. It was a pointed, French jaw, and her lower lip was much smaller than her top lip. The truck evaporated, and Carly ran back to her office to sketch the face before the memory of it disappeared.

Once Carly had normalized the perspective of the sketch, and reoriented it so that it seemed more like a mugshot than a reflection captured in a truck window, she abandoned her work table and found a computer where she could look at missing person's files.

Carly focused on missing person's reports from southern Louisiana parishes for African-American girls 10-16. The sheer volume of them disgusted Carly, but within fifteen minutes she'd located her subject: Cherisse Smithfield. Carly had expected a French surname for the Creole girl, but a French first name was enough evidence to suggest that Carly was on the right track. She'd disappeared one night three years ago after fighting with her grandmother just southwest of Thibodaux, Louisiana. Her mother had been in town working at a truck-stop, and Cherisse told her grandmother she was going to go sit and wait for her mom. Somewhere between her residence and the truck-stop, Cherisse disappeared and was never seen again. Now Carly knew, relatively, where she disappeared, and that she'd been picked up by someone driving a truck. Carly's only challenge, now, was to explain how she'd arrived at the identification without having completed the full reconstruction.

In the Memphis lab, Carly had a reputation for being fast, for getting more identifications than any other forensic artist in the region, which was one reason why she'd been tapped on this significant grant. But now, if all she had to do was put a bone in her palm and walk around for a little while, she could be extraordinarily fast, but she'd also be conspicuous and would undoubtedly draw attention to herself. More than anything, she wished she could talk this non-problem over with Eric, because he would certainly have ideas for her. She couldn't talk with Ellen, the ME, without coming across as crazy, so she decided that she'd put away Cherisse's small bone and go to lunch.

On Carly's drive around Shreveport, she'd seen a little natural foods grocery store that had an outdoor eating area, so she drove there, ordered a felafel sandwich and some stuffed grape leaves and took a seat outside next to a small tree that seemed to be struggling for life. As she ate her lunch, Carly thought over all the dead bodies she'd encountered since she'd been in Shreveport and tried to do an inventory of how many of those cases remained unsolved.

The woman who'd been sanguinary and skinned alive just a few doors down from Carly's hotel room now had a partner down in the morgue, a young man in a similar state, although he retained his head and would certainly be identified soon. Carly felt that the two had to be Christophe's victims and that he'd be turning over a new painting to Edgar as soon as it was dry. Christophe was responsible for Greta, Brian, and Anna's deaths. Now, they discovered that any effort to bring Christophe to justice via the Queen would likely fail, because she knew all about it already and hadn't done anything to prevent his one vampire crime spree. Carly contemplated what she would do if she were aware of an analogous human crime. If she knew that the governor of a state were involved in a criminal conspiracy, she'd contact the FBI. Even still, she didn't know who the vampire FBI would be or how to contact them. In fact, Carly was pretty certain that any vampire FBI agents would probably eat her rather than listen to her. And as things stood, her only evidence was that Christophe had wrecked her apartment, although she didn't even have direct evidence of that.

Until she figured out how to put together sufficient evidence to take to some "higher vampire authority," Carly decided to call her mom, since gala season was starting a little earlier than usual this year.

Edna answered the phone sounding slightly hung over, "Carly?"

"Hi mom, you sound terrible."

"Thank you, darling, I appreciate the positive affirmation." Edna coughed, "I spent last evening with Jacques and Abdullah, and the two of them seem to have become fast friends. I listened to the two of them go on and on about Damascus."

"I guess we're both keeping late hours with vampires, mom."

"Yes, well, I hope you're having more fun with yours and not sitting around at all hours talking about the glory days of middle eastern cities."

"No, I'm afraid it's been worse than that." Carly didn't know how much she should disclose to her mother and how much she should keep back.

"How could anything be worse?"

"I've been hanging around as he's been...exercising his official capacity." Circumspection won out as her favorite strategy.

"Jean-Jacques told me he's the Sheriff," Edna snuffled. "I guess he's one of his Queen's principle henchmen, right?"

"Mom," Carly sighed in relief, "I think I love Jean-Jacques. His gossip has been incredibly helpful to me. Thank him, will you." Carly remembered that Jean-Jacques was supposed to carry a message. "But he was supposed to tell you to call me."

"Yes, he did." Edna sniffed again, "I'm sorry, dear. I forgot."

"Well," Carly laughed, "I'm going to make you pay for it, mom. I've got a set of uncomfortable questions I need to ask you."

Edna paused before speaking again. "I guess I deserve it. How many and how uncomfortable?"

"I'm not entirely sure. But they're probably going to be very uncomfortable."

"And you call when it's too early for a cocktail."

"Sorry, mom." Carly gathered her courage and spit out her first question. "When you went to find dad's body, were his clothes still there?"

"I wasn't expecting that. Yes, his clothes were there, that was one of the things that made me so angry, so confused. Why would anyone take him and leave his clothes behind?"

"I don't know, mom." Carly tried to decide where to go next. "Is it possible that Dad was...different?

"What do you mean, Carly?" Edna sounded bitter.

"Was he like me, mom? Could he hear what people were thinking?"

Carly could hear Edna weeping quietly on the other end of the phone. "Sweetheart, I don't know. He never said anything that would make me suspect it, but he was always so open, so kind to everyone. He never met a stranger."

"You've always said that."

"Maybe he could hear people. He always seemed to be able to ask exactly the question that would get someone talking about their favorite things in the world."

"What did he tell you about his family?"

"Not much. He said they didn't approve of him because he wanted to be an artist."

"You never told me that, mom."

"I'm sorry." Edna blew her nose. "That portrait you love so much, he did that."

"Wow."

"Yes, it was through him that I really got to know the art world. I wish I had been able to keep more of his work, but he'd sold almost all of it before he died. Almost as if he knew he was..."

"I'm sorry, mom, I really am. But did you ever meet any of his relatives?"

"Just one. She lives in New York, but she's always kept her distance, although I saw her once coming out of Abdullah's gallery. I haven't had the nerve to talk about it with him ever. When your father died, she called and left a number that she said was for you, when you started asking questions about your father. I guess I should get it."

"Please, mom, I really appreciate it."

Edna retrieved the phone number and dictated it to Carly. "I'll call her today, mom. I really need to know more about Dad."

"Why the urgency, Carly?"

"My abilities are changing, mom. They're becoming more intense."

"How are they changing?" Fear clearly tinged Edna's voice.

"Well, I identified a young woman today without having to dream about her death. I just held one of her bones and then I had a vivid hallucination out on the street. I drew her from it and then had an identification in about a half hour."

"That's impressive, and it should be a relief if you don't have to have those terrifying dreams. They must be awful." Edna and Carly had never discussed the dreams in detail, but Carly knew that her mother was sympathetic.

Carly chuckled and said, "Well, I haven't gone to sleep yet. Who knows what kind of horrible thing awaits me. But I seem, also, to have a little bit more control over them, and with vampires..." Carly realized that she shouldn't talk about how her abilities related to vampires.

"Carly, I don't want to know how you react to vampires."

"Eric told me not to talk about it."

"Tell him I approve of him tremendously."

"Thanks, mom." Carly thought about the vampire FBI. "Has Jean-Jacques told you anything about the power structure of vampires?"

"Other than the fact that he's King of New York?" Edna laughed, "He hasn't talked too much about it, although he said that a character called the 'Magister' is the one that all vampires really fear."

"If the Magister comes up again in conversation, could you ask how he gets involved in vampire disputes?"

"Carly, Jean-Jacques is not a fool, so I really don't think it would be a good idea for me to bring it up."

"Okay. You're right."

Carly looked at her watch and realized she better get back to her office. She'd call her mystery relative, Arianna, after work, before she ate dinner.

When Carly got back to the Medical Examiner's office, she found Ellen standing over her workspace, examining the drawing of Cherisse and the details of her case that Carly printed out before lunch.

"Hi, Ellen, how are you?"

"Amazed, dumbstruck, astonished." Ellen held up Carly's drawing in one hand and the printouts in the other. "Shall I go on, or have I said enough?"

"I think you've got it covered."

The two women looked at each other intently, and Ellen finally broke the stalemate. "If you tell me how you do this, will I believe you?"

"Probably not." Carly decided to be as honest as she could, even if it meant she lost her job in Shreveport. One part of her wanted to quit, to spend her life as Eric's shadow, to keep his hours, and the other part of her just wanted someone to believe in her.

"Does it involve spirits talking to you or incantations?"

"No." Carly shielded herself from Ellen's thoughts as best as she could, but she found ideas bleeding through the cracks: _Too good to be crazy...People said she was weird...Such a good record of identifications...I need all the help I can get._

"Do you have to do anything creepy? Drink their blood, lick their bones?"

"No, just touch them. It's been changing since I got to Shreveport."

"How?"

"I used to just have dreams about them, and I'd have to dream about them until I found a reflection." Carly shrugged. "It's getting easier, and it's starting to happen when I'm awake."

Ellen shook her head. "If anyone asks, you tried a bunch of different jaws until you landed on this one, and then decided to look for a match."

"I can sketch two or three more drawings with different jaws." Carly offered to conceal the speed with which she got the identification for the sake of appearances."

"Cherisse Smithfield didn't have any dental records, but her mom and sister gave DNA samples. I'll pull a tooth to send to the FBI lab." Ellen pulled up a chair and sat down.

"Carly, can you do this when bodies are..."

"Fresher?"

"Yeah. I did it with Greta and Brian."

"Why? Why would you do that to yourself?" Ellen scowled in disbelief, as if she were about to reconsider Carly, to label her as crazy or morbid.

"I needed to know if Anna killed them without encouragement, or whether her boyfriend was also there."

"And?"

"He was there, but the police didn't find any physical evidence that suggested another person at the scene."

"She was with a vampire, right?"

"Yes. His name is Christophe, and he was catching the splatter to make a piece of art." Carly was so relieved that the ME was listening to her and hadn't sent for the man with the special truck and the uncomfortable jacket.

"That explains the discrepancy between the crime scene and the injuries." Ellen nodded and turned to the computer, "Do you want to look at the photos?"

"No." Carly shook her head violently. "I don't want to or need to."

"Sorry. I didn't think about it." Ellen turned back to look at Carly. "Do you think you could make some magic with our headless, skinless girl?"

"I've been thinking about it, but I don't know what good it will do." Carly really didn't want to grasp hold of a frozen, skinless woman, and really didn't want confirmation that Christophe had drained yet another woman for the purposes of his art, but now that Ellen knew what she could do, she had to do it. "Will you come with me?"

"Sure. I've got to let you in and open the cooler."

The two of them walked down to the elevator and went down to the morgue. Ellen made small talk, "So did Bob take you to the morgue?"

"Yes," Carly felt embarrassed, "I probably flirted a little too much with him and gave him false hope."

"Why do you say that, Carly?"

Carly looked at Ellen across the elevator and asked, "What did Cassie tell you about me?"

"Not much. I think she didn't want you to have the cards dealt against you. She did say you were attached to a vampire."

"That's true."

The elevator brought them to the bottom floor, and Ellen took the lead out the doors and headed toward the morgue. Once inside, Carly felt nauseated.

Ellen pulled a pair of gloves from a dispenser, and then turned to Carly, "Can you wear latex gloves? I should have asked before we came down here."

"I have to touch them." Carly shivered. "I have to touch them directly, without gloves."

"I'm sorry, Carly. That's not going to be comfortable."

"Yeah, it will probably hurt."

Ellen opened the door to the negative storage drawer and pulled the remains found in the hotel room the week before out so that they were visible. Since they were being held below freezing, there wasn't any covering to be pulled back, so Carly got the full impact of the body's horrific condition.

Shaking her head, "I can't imagine how much this poor girl suffered."

"I'll have to." Carly put both her hands just above the dead girl's left ankle. The freezing temperature shot through Carly's fingers, and she felt her skin gripping the exposed fat and muscle. "Could you keep track of time, Ellen? I'll keep them here a minute."

"Okay. From now."

Carly closed her eyes and tried to relax, clearing her mind as much as she could, trying desperately to displace her own consciousness and allow space for the fears, memories, and death of the woman before her.

"Now," Ellen called out the end of the minute.

Prying her hands away from the exposed fat and muscle, Carly realized she was crying. "I need to wash my hands, Ellen, please."

Ellen got the water running in a utility sink in the corner and then called Carly over, dispensing a handful of soap so that Carly could start washing her hands vigorously. "Are you okay, Carly?"

Carly scrubbed her hands and then finally splashed water over her face. "I'll be okay. I don't usually get that upset. It was probably just the temperature, or the pain of touching her."

"Sure." Ellen pushed the drawer back into the cooler and secured its door. "What happens now?"

"I go home, go to sleep, and then I dream. The first dream is usually the death."

"You have to do this multiple times?"

"Maybe." Carly shrugged and replied, "But there were a lot of mirrors in the hotel room. If I'm lucky, I'll be able to draw her face."

"I hope that's the way it works." Ellen asked tentatively, "Will you be able to see who killed her?"

"Yeah, if his face is clear, or if she could see him." Carly was certain that she already knew the assailant and how and why he killed, so she wasn't particularly interested in that element of the experience.

"We just have to figure out how to get this information to the police." Ellen smiled and then began laughing. "It'll be just like Medium."

"Never watched that show." Carly smiled cynically, "I really don't like TV that much. The last thing I watched was the big announcement about vampires."

"I can't believe that was only a couple months ago."

"Tell me about it."

Carly spent much of the rest of the day doing her alternative renderings of Cherisse. She noted the file number, but shredded her printout, so that she could produce a new one once enough time had passed. Ellen gave her permission to move on to the next case on the priority list, identifying the remains of an elderly man who had been found at a construction site in Shreveport two years before. Carly felt some relief that Ellen knew something about her abilities and seemed willing to use them rather shunning her for them.

Comparatively, even though a mad vampire was out to get her and destroy her boyfriend, and even though she knew about an extensive criminal conspiracy with the Queen of Louisiana at the helm, Carly felt pretty good and looked forward to a good evening where she could reconnect with a previously unknown relative and enjoy Eric's company, preferably his naked company.

She resisted the impulse to go to the cellar and sit next to him when she got home. Instead, she ate some cereal and some fruit, and prepared herself emotionally for the phone call. _Someone related to Dad. Maybe a fairy. Might be able to read minds like I can. _Carly also got a sketchbook and put it next to the guest house phone, which she decided to use rather than her cell phone so that she could sit more comfortably and talk for as long as she wanted.

Finally, Carly dialed Arianna and waited for her to pick up the phone. After three rings, Carly's elation began to deflate, but then someone answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Um, hi, this is Carly Michael."

"Carly, I expected you to call years ago, my dear." The voice was musical, clear, playful, and Carly wondered why she hadn't called her years before.

"Arianna?"

"Yes, dear. So you finally asked about your father. What changed? I had begun to give up on you."

"Well, I guess vampires changed the equation a little." Carly couldn't really think of anything else to say. Eric Northman had disrupted her sense of self and encouraged her to ask questions she'd never had words for before."

"They tend to do that, although they've never made such a splash before."

"Arianna, I'm just going to spit this out, and you can laugh if you want to, but are we fairies?"

"Right to the point, Carly. I appreciate that."

"Well, Arianna, it's because I'm...attached to a vampire."

"Oh, Carly, really? I'm terribly disappointed, although I suppose it's not surprising, since it must be hard to interact with humans." Arianna clucked her tongue. "But it can't be all bad, depending on which one. There are a few that can control themselves, but I don't know where you'd find one in, where are you now, sweetheart?"

"Shreveport, Louisiana. And Arianna, you haven't said yes or no?"

"Why should I say anything when you already know the answer?"

"I really need specifics, Arianna. Was my father entirely a fairy, or just partly fairy, and how on earth does that even happen?"

"Sweetheart, couldn't we have a little small talk, first?"

Carly felt scolded, appropriately, "I'm sorry, Arianna, I don't even know your last name."

"I don't really have one, although I go by Michael, just as your father did."

"So how were you related to my father?"

"We shared a mother, although we had different fathers. Both our fathers were fairies, although our mother had a number of children, over quite some time. She was one of the most prolific fairies of recent years."

"Was? Is she dead?"

"Yes, unfortunately."

"So you're my aunt? And I'm a half-fairy?"

"Probably a little over half, if we factor in your mother's family, but that was quite some time ago, but it probably lingers a bit."

Carly's mind started processing at a million miles an hour. "In Amsterdam, about 300 years ago?"

"Why, yes. Carly, how do you know about it?"

"Eric told me about a woman who was a favorite of a vampire in Amsterdam..."

"Charles's favorite?"

"Yes."

"Terrible story. So you've taken up with Eric Northman, the Viking?"

"Yes. I'm his. I belong to him."

"Well, you certainly have done well, among vampires."

"I'm glad you approve." Carly wondered how far she could push the conversation. "We're also in trouble. The Queen here is involved with the man who killed Charles's favorite—Christophe."

"Little toad."

"Well, he seems to be killing people left and right and the queen knows about it."

"And?" Arianna laughed. "Carly, I won't mix myself up in vampire politics, even though I admit that the King of New York is entrancing. We circle each other whenever nearby. Jean-Jacques is magnificent, and if I were willing to die, I would be next to him in a moment for that one second of pleasure. But I'm not."

"Okay. You can't help me with that, but maybe you can help explain my powers to me."

"Our kind work with the dead."

"Fairies?"

"Carly, there are as many kinds of fairies, clans, species, as there are places on this earth and all the others. Our kind shepherd the dead, prepare them for their passing, and help to mourn their loss."

"Seriously? You're telling me I'm a Banshee?"

"Why do you seem so surprised? That's what were called in Ireland, and only because of a very loud relative. Otherwise, we wouldn't be feared so profoundly."

"What about my father?"

"He wanted to be among the living, so he fled. Unfortunately, he made enemies along the way who exacted retribution from him." Arianna's voice was so light, so unencumbered by fear or distress, or grief, Carly fumed.

"So what does this mean for me?"

"I don't exactly know. As fairies go, we have a better time with vampires, perhaps because we feel sympathy with them. Our existence is consumed by darkness, and fear, and we're most active at night."

"Can I stay with Eric?"

"Of course, although you must explain to him that no one knows how you'll age. Now that you've hit maturity, you might stay the same for forty, fifty years."

"Really?"

"Yes, so since he'll inevitably want to turn you into a vampire, advise that he be patient."

"And could he change me into a vampire?"

"I don't know. I don't think it's been tried. Once fairies are dead, we disintegrate, return to the wind."

"My father just blew away when he died, didn't he?"

"Yes, it's quite tragic, although environmentally sound."

"Arianna, that's just tacky. Really, just tacky." Carly didn't know how to incorporate all this new information."

"Sorry, my dear."

"So since I'm only a half-fairy, I may not disintegrate. Eric might be able to turn me?"

"Yes, he might. But remind him that you will be young for a very long time, so he shouldn't be in a rush."

"Okay." Carly had another question, "If I came to New York, could I see you?"

"Yes, but you'd have to leave Mr. Northman behind. I couldn't stop him from draining me if he had the inclination."

"Is there anything we can do to keep ourselves safe from vampires?"

"No. Light fairies have some abilities, but, as I said, we're creatures of the dark, just as they are. They are death, and we are death's watchmen and heralds." Arianna began to giggle. "To be honest, I don't know exactly how vampires react, since there are so few of us. The light fairies suffer tremendously, and few survive interactions with them."

"So it might not be the same for us?"

"No."

"Arianna, have you ever been mistaken for a vampire?" Carly wondered why Esther and Alan misrecognized her.

"No, but as I said, I've never been linked to one." She giggled again. "I have to admit that you make me jealous. Perhaps I should contact Jean-Jacques. I guess I could always hold a silver dagger in my hand."

"I'm going to be in New York with Eric in a month, if not sooner, so can I come visit you?"

"Oh, of course, darling." Arianna seemed distant for a moment, "There are a number of light fairies in Louisiana, but you should avoid them if possible. There's been a feud, and I'd hate to see you drawn into it."

"Can you tell me where?"

"I have a poor sense of geography, but there's been a war for some time among them. The water fairies and the light fairies have been at each others' throats. There is a portal in Louisiana, near a little town called Bon Temps."

"I've been there already."

"Did you meet any fairies?"

"Perhaps one, but I don't think she knows."

"Best that you leave her be, child." Arianna sighed deeply. "The war is still ongoing. It would be dangerous for you if you became involved."

"Are there any wars going on in Banshee-land that I need to know about?" Carly didn't know if she could keep track of vampire politics and fairy civil wars.

"Oh, no, dear. We're all on the same page, as the humans say." Arianna laughed. "Most of my kin stay in their world, but they're drawn here to feed."

"On what?"

"Carly, sweet child, the dead, of course. Don't you feel it?"

"No. It's terrible."

"Well, that's probably because you're just half or so. You still have that troublesome human sympathy."

"Terribly troublesome." Carly sounded nihilistic as she said it. "So we eat the dead?"

"They have to go somewhere, don't they?" Arianna laughed loudly. "You can't tell me you caught human religion somewhere along the line."

"No. But I didn't think that I was part of an interdimensional trash pickup either."

"Such a cynical way of looking at it, Carly. You really should have a more open mind."

"It's so open, now, Auntie, that it's about to break open."

"Well," Arianna's voice deepened, "when you're feeling like asking more questions, I'll be here for you."

"Thanks."

"No problem, my darling. I loved your father deeply, I want you to know."

"Just tell me you didn't push him out of the window."

"Of course not. Our other brother did that."

"Terrific."

"No. He's quite a pill, but he's in Philadelphia most of the time."

When Carly hung up the phone, her mind was on overload. She was half-Banshee, who fed on the dead, who might live until who knows when, whose father was pushed out a window by her uncle, whose aunt had a crush on the vampire king of New York, who was attached to a vampire, although apparently a vampire her Banshee aunt approved of, and she looked forward to dreaming about a poor woman who'd likely been skinned nearly alive.

All the good feeling she'd had earlier in the evening was gone, kaput, nada, absent, evaporated. When she heard the cellar door creak open, she just said, "Hi, Eric, hope you had a nice rest."

"You sound as if your dog died," Eric responded.

"Worse, I probably ate its soul after directing him there."

Eric stood next to her, embraced her, and kissed her forehead. "My sweet, what's wrong?"

"I'm a fucking Banshee, Eric. I'm a goddamn half-banshee with a touch of Dutch fairy in the mix just to make things interesting. I shepherd the dead to the afterworld by eating them."

Eric started laughing almost hysterically, "That's marvelous!"

"You're kidding, right?"

"No, it's wonderful! No wonder we get along so well."

Carly wasn't in a mood to laugh, and she really wanted permission just to be pissy for half an hour or more. "The ME knows I can dream of people's deaths. My mother told me that my father's clothes were left behind when he died. She gave me the number of some long lost relative who only wanted to talk when I started asking questions, and the bitch told me I'm a fucking Banshee. But I shouldn't be worried, because the bad reputation is just because of a relative who couldn't keep her mouth shut. Oh, and the other thing, I've got a touch of fairy on my mother's side."

"No wonder you're so delicious," Eric licked her face.

"And this relative has a king-sized crush on your buddy, the King of New York, although it sounds like my mom and her roommate do too, since she spent all night with him."

"Jean-Jacques is spending time with your mother?" Eric's face was covered with fear and concern.

"Don't worry, because she hasn't spilled the beans that I can read minds, or recover the dead, or whatever it is that I do. And she cut me off before I said I could now read vampire minds." Carly stomped to the other side of the guest house. "I'm coming apart, Eric."

"No, you're not, you've just begun to acknowledge that you're different, truly different, than other people."

"No, it's not that easy, Eric." Carly shook her head. "No, you've got the Queen of Louisiana involved in a conspiracy to traffic vampire blood, which I know is bad. And who do you have to report that to?" Carly was nearly screaming, "Oh, yeah, the queen of fucking Louisiana?"

"Carly," Eric was trying to calm her down.

"I spent all day trying to figure out how I was going to call in the fucking vampire FBI without your getting hurt?"

"Carly, it's going to be okay."

"No, Eric, how can it be okay?" Carly remembered the conversation with her mother. "Can we call in the Magister? Can he investigate this so you don't have to?"

"Esther can talk to the magister, but only once we've been before the queen," Eric tried to get her to sit.

But Carly resisted, "And how am I supposed to go before the Queen? When is this even supposed to be happening?"

Eric frowned. "Tonight, Carly. It's supposed to happen tonight."


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

"Of course, why the hell not? Oh, yeah, I only work during the day. And she's in New Orleans, or Baton Rouge, or wherever." Carly collapsed cross-legged exactly where she stood, just as if she'd been water spilled from a glass.

Eric knelt next to her, "Carly, I know this is stressful, but I need you to keep things together right now."

Carly stretched her neck, "I know." She stood up suddenly and grabbed her sketchbook. "I need a plan of attack, and I need information now."

"Okay." Eric seemed impressed that she wanted to talk strategy.

"Are you taking Esther and Alan with you to the Queen?"

"Yes, the both have to go before the Queen."

"Will Edgar Martin be there?"

Eric nodded. "Yes, he'll be asked to account for depositing Alan with Esther instead of acting as a proper maker should."

"Okay. So are we going to be talking about the blood trafficking?"

"Not necessarily." Eric shrugged his shoulders. "The primary issue as it stands is that Edgar has abandoned his progeny without proper training and has failed to register them with authorities."

"And the apartment building?" Carly kept sketching and listing.

"I'm going to tell her that I discovered a building that appeared ready to shelter undocumented vampires in my area."

"We need to have a good story about how you found it?" Carly shook her head, worried that at least one part of her strategy would fall apart.

"You were there, how could I not find it out?"

"But I didn't belong to you then, right?"

"No, but you had my blood in Sweden." Eric smiled suddenly satisfied by some realization that escaped Carly's understanding. "I marked you as mine in Sweden and only waited to complete the bond once you were back in the United States."

"Why would you have given me blood in Sweden except for the fact that I was wounded?"

"I saw you and marked you while you slept." His smile broadened and he rose up to kiss her and said, "Because I'm such an old fashioned vampire."

"And how do we account for the fact that Esther and Alan think you've already made me a vampire?" Esther tapped the page of the sketchbook anxiously.

"They were under duress, and I found no reason to correct their misapprehension until tonight." Eric made a "fait accompli" gesture clapping his hands together.

"We've only got two major problems, as I see it."

"What?"

"First, Alan is as dumb as dirt."

"Agreed, but what's the second problem, darling?"

"I smell too good."

Eric gathered her up in his arms and said, "Oh, but I know how to fix that."

He carried her to the bed, and told her, forcefully, "Strip."

"Fine. You too?"

"Of course."

They took off their clothes, and then he wrapped himself behind her. "First, we'll share blood, then we'll fuck, and then we'll fuck some more."

Carly turned her head to look straight at him, "When do we have to be there?"

"Midnight."

"And how long will the flight take?"

"An hour, maximum, and they'll be ready to leave at 10pm."

"So we have an hour to get me to smell like you?"

"It will be a marvelous, bloody hour, my sweet." Eric bit his wrist brutally, ripping away the flesh, and held it before Carly's mouth. As she moved toward it, he bit her neck, and the blood swirled between them, pumping directly between their bodies. Carly felt a complete circuit, and would have continued to suck, except that Eric stopped them. Then, elated, Carly turned toward him and mounted him without any preamble, and they moved together frenetically and frantically until they both found release.

"I have an idea, Eric, but it might gross you out?"

"I doubt it."

Carly asked, "Could you paint me in your blood? Wherever my clothes will cover, can you smear your blood on me?"

"That's absolutely the most wonderful thing I've ever been asked."

"Good grief." Carly jumped to the bathroom and then went to her wardrobe. "We should pick out what I'll wear first."

"Yes, that's a good point." Eric stood stark naked before her wardrobe, perusing the choices. He settled on an off-the shoulder black dress that went below the knees and a pair of black heels that she hated wearing. After holding it before her, he said, "Lie down."

He bit his palm and started massaging his blood into her skin. She felt exhilarated, first by his touch, second by the sheer kinkiness of it. She knew that the purpose of this was to mark her as his, for his scent to drown out her own, but it made her feel aroused and bestial. Carly rolled over onto her back and asked, "Can I get on my knees?"

"What has gotten into you?" Eric laughed.

"You promised me more than one round, Viking." Carly rocked backward so that her chest and chin were flat on the ground, and she rubbed against him. "If Arianna's right, wouldn't I be a Valkyrie in Norse Mythology?"

That suggestion seemed to excite Eric more than anything she'd ever said, because he grasped her and plunged into her with a force and rapidity that left her struggling for air. "Now that you put it like that, I should fuck you like a Viking warrior, shouldn't I?"

Carly could hardly say anything, but what came out of her was incoherent, single syllables, "God," "Oh," "Yes."

When Eric hit Valhalla, he roared, and then began to laugh with nearly ridiculous excitement. "Oh, we're going to have fun, Carly."

Eric helped her dress and fix her hair. He decided to wear the same clothes he'd brought back to her place from the club—a plain white t-shirt and jeans. "This will make Sophie-Ann insane. She hates how I dress."

Carly brought the sketch book along with her to Fangtasia, where she helped to load Esther and Alan into a panel van. Pam drove them to the airport, and Eric and Carly sat in the back to prepare them.

Eric began, "Esther, our only concern with you before the queen is the apartment building and Edgar's practices as a maker. Understood."

Esther nodded and whispered, "Thank you." She still looked wan, although she had no open wounds. Her clothes were filthy and covered in blood, and her hair was matted with it.

Alan looked better but still rubbed his wrists where the silver handcuffs had chafed against him. "So what about me?"

"Our primary concern is why you have not been registered as Edgar's progeny and why he cast you out, especially without releasing you."

"Okay."

Eric continued to brief his suspects/witnesses/co-conspirators. "When we get there, I first need to present my bonded companion, Carly, to the Queen for her inspection."

Esther looked straight at Carly and said, "But isn't she a vampire?"

"No," Carly responded, "I'm not." She then followed up, "How could you recognize me as human when you were both in so much pain."

Esther nodded, but Alan said. "I don't get it. I thought you glamoured that guy."

"No. I simply talked sense into him and paid him a great deal of money to keep quiet." Carly decided that anyone, including the vampire queen of Louisiana, would believe a human would respond to a payoff well.

"Oh," Alan replied. "I just saw you give him $100."

"I gave him much more of my own money, Alan."

"Okay."

After the short drive, they flew to New Orleans. Carly realized that they probably spent more time on the ground, checking in or checking out, than they did in the air. She hardly had time to realize she was flying before they were in New Orleans, and another panel truck waited for them.

Carly asked, "Eric, is this the Queens?"

"No." Eric shook his head. "I always make my own travel arrangements."

"Good."

Within another twenty minutes, they passed into a palatial Mediterranean Style Villa complex that was filled with elaborate statuary. Carly presumed that most of it was probably pink, and she hated every bit of it. When they pulled to a stop, a heavily armed guard approached them and said, "The Queen is in her solarium."

Eric nodded at the guard. "I have prisoners. Could you lead the way?"

"Sure."

Eric made sure that Carly held back and stood behind Eric. Although they hadn't discussed it, Carly understood that she was expected to be silent, decorative, and submissive, but she was confident that Eric would protect her. As they approached the door, Eric reached back with his hand and took hers in his. "Carly, stay close to me. If necessary, we can always go straight up, so keep your head low."

Carly hadn't thought of that. He could always fly them back to Shreveport Viking Express.

The guard directed them inside but left as soon as they were inside. A small, slender, dark haired man with short, slicked back hair approached them. Carly realized that she felt as if she were cowering behind Eric, but didn't really mind doing it.

"Mr. Northman," the dark haired vampire said, "Thank you for coming on such short notice, with your prisoners and your new pet."

"Andre," Eric nodded, "I'm always at the Queen's beck and call."

"Indeed." Andre looked Carly over quickly, "She's a pretty thing, Northman, although I expected something a little more spectacular given your usual tastes."

"She is mine, Andre." Eric spoke forcefully. "That is all that matters to me."

Andre gestured toward a set of double doors, through which a swimming pool sparkled under nearly blinding lights. Carly wondered how the vampires could bear the brightness, since it even bothered her (nearly) human eyes. "The Queen awaits, and I believe intends to have you fed and entertained before we discuss your prisoners."

"Andre, I've already fed on Carly and feel quite satisfied."

"I'm sorry, Eric, the Queen was quite intent that you share her new favorite, Hadley. She's very tasty. We've all had a sip." Andre winked at Carly, "Your companion won't mind, of course."

Carly gripped Eric's hand tightly and then released her grip slightly to allow room between their hands. Andre bothered her, and something felt strange about the entire gathering.

"Of course she won't, Andre," Eric smirked. "She knows her place. Nevertheless, I'm quite satisfied. Can we just go in to have our audience with the Queen?"

"Come inside, Hadley's by the pool, Eric."

The Sheriff, his bonded companion, and the two prisoners, now unrestrained, followed Andre toward the pool, where a young girl of about 22 lay next to the pool, topless. She was covered in bite marks of different sizes, although something seemed strange about their placement to Carly.

Carly focused intently on Hadley, who resembled someone, but she couldn't place who. Once Carly peered into her, everything was open to her. Her name was Hadley, and she was Sookie's cousin, she was an addict, an unwed mother who had abandoned her son, and she was the Queen's bonded favorite, and she was never, ever shared with anyone else. Without needing to read his mind, Carly also realized that Eric found Hadley attractive and wanted a taste of her, even if it hurt her. All his resolve had melted away. She needed to signal to him, somehow, that Andre and the Queen had laid a trap for him.

First, she traced out "Trap" on Eric's palm, but he just let go of her hand. "Carly. A taste won't hurt anyone, and I don't want to insult the queen."

Carly felt Hadley's disappointment that the Queen had lied, that someone else was going to bite her, that a man would bite her, but she also knew that Andre would punish him, would kill him with the stake he had behind his back. As Eric brought out his fangs, Carly spoke up, "Eric, look, doesn't that little statue remind you of the painting we saw in Amsterdam?"

Eric looked up at her, and she knew she had his attention. "Where, Carly?"

A small bronze statue of a grasshopper, gleaming among the ferns and other plants, had caught Carly's attention as they'd walked in the solarium. It had large marbles instead of eyes, and long slivers of glass caught the overpowering light. "The grasshopper, Eric. Doesn't it remind you of the painting we saw in Amsterdam, when you took me? The one in the Rijksmuseum. What was that called, do you remember?"

"I'm sorry, Andre, I wish Carly hadn't brought up the Rijksmuseum; there was quite a set of Biblical paintings. Religion makes me lose my appetite." Eric let go of Hadley entirely, "My apologies, child. Nothing personal, of course."

Andre scowled and said, "The Queen will be very offended, Eric."

"Offense is inevitable in as long a life as we have." Eric smiled sweetly at his opponent and embraced Carly, kissing her on the head. "Thank you. My apologies for my poor recollection."

Carly smiled at him, grateful that he caught the reference to Christophe's painting of the plagues of Egypt.

"Shall we sit, Carly?" Eric took a seat on a wrought-iron chair, and Carly, without direction, sank down at his feet, grasping onto his leg. Eric patted her on the head and directed his praise of her toward Andre, "I've never kept a pet until Carly. She's been quite worth the wait, in every way."

Andre responded, lips tight with anger. "I can see."

A bubbly red-haired woman nearly skipped into the room. "Eric Northman, did you enjoy Hadley?"

Andre responded. "He lost his appetite and did not taste her."

Her effusiveness disappeared, "Not even a little?"

"My apologies, my Queen, but I've already eaten quite a bit tonight." Eric stroked Carly's hair. "And I just lost my appetite."

"Unfortunate." The queen glowered at Carly. "So this is your new pet?"

"Yes." Eric put his hand beneath her chin, "Rise, pet, so the queen can see you properly."

Carly rose, and then, with her best debutante curtsey, she bowed to the Queen.

"Well, she certainly reeks of you, Northman. You should let her wash once and a while."

"Oh, she does, my Queen. Several times a day, but my attentions are somewhat," Eric smirked rakishly, "insatiable."

"Sit," the Queen commanded, and Carly returned to her submissive position at Eric's feet. Carly took the opportunity to assess her surroundings. There were no other vampires of the Queen's court present other than Andre and the Queen, and there were three humans-Hadley and two very young men, whom Carly suspected couldn't be out of high school. _Perhaps the Queen could get in trouble for statutory rape as well?_ Carly made a note to ask about that. The two young men seemed to be in some sort of fugue state, either from loss of blood or from over-glamouring, so the only thing they could do was to lounge about looking petulantly desirable. Now that Carly knew that Sookie's cousin was involved with the Queen, she decided that she had to share this information with her on Sunday, somehow, and warn her about her vulnerabilities to vampires. Maybe she'd just call.

"Northman," the Queen intoned, pouting and snapping her fingers at Hadley to draw her near, "remind me again while you're here."

"I have a situation in Shreveport. Someone has built an apparent safe house for undocumented vampires. The leases allow vampires unfettered access to the humans within the apartments, they have light-tight closets with hidden access panels, and I found one such undocumented vampire, Alan, present, being fostered by his sister, Esther. Edgar Martin is their maker. I was under the impression that you were going to call him here tonight."

"I chose not to," the Queen spoke imperiously.

Eric stood, "Then my Queen, it has been a pleasure presenting my bonded to you, and I look forward to an audience where Martin can be present." Eric snapped at Alan and Esther, who fell into line behind him as he moved toward the door.

"Where are you going, Northman?"

"Shreveport. As you know, I have a new venture opening, and my bonded is still employed and needs to return in time for rest and eating, and," Eric smiled again, "another go-round or two." Eric snapped his heels together, which startled Carly slightly, "Good night, my queen."

"You can leave your prisoners, Northman."

"I fear not, my queen. As you know, they are more victims than perpetrators, and I do not wish for them to be punished. I need answers, since this building poses a direct threat to vampires and to the stability of my area. Without satisfaction, I cannot leave them. I know you understand." Eric turned to leave again, but hesitated. "After all, every undocumented vampire is a vampire who does not provide you with revenue—from taxation." Eric's weighty reference was almost too direct. He continued to bait the queen. "If you wish, however, to call the Magister in tonight, I would be perfectly happy to leave them, but I need to give him some information about how to question them to countermand their maker's instructions."

The Queen stared at Northman, and Carly began to tense up. She recognized a standoff when she was in the middle of one, and somehow, she feared that everything would blow-up and she'd be headed out of the roof, clinging to Eric's side.

"Fine, Northman. There's no reason to trouble the Magister with such a small concern, is there?" The Queen's manner was once again sweetness and light. "This is really just a parenting issue, isn't it?"

"I agree, my Queen." Eric walked out of the solarium, calling over his shoulder, "I look forward to your next summons, when I am certain Edgar Martin will be present."

As they walked back into the darkness, which Carly found comforting after the preternatural brightness of the solarium, Carly was amazed that they were leaving the Queen's headquarters alive or through traditional horizontal transportation. She'd expected something horrifying and dramatic, so she was ecstatic that they were leaving so smoothly. The Queen's clumsy effort to trap Eric didn't even bother her too much.

Once they were back in the panel truck, Eric embraced her and smothered her with a huge kiss. "You've saved my life tonight, Carly Michael. Thank you."

"No problem." Carly thought for a moment and then said, "Arianna was right, vampires have a thing for light fairies."

"The girl was a fairy?"

"At least a little bit. And so was the favorite in Amsterdam."

Eric was quiet for most of the drive back to the airport, but then he said suddenly, "Do you find the Queen's court odd?"

"The blinding light or the catatonic boys?"

"The blinding light."

"Yes, that even made me nervous, but I guess I'm a creature of darkness too." Carly smiled weakly

Eric smiled, "My sweet Valkyrie."

Once they were loaded onto the plane, Carly lay back and closed her eyes. Although Eric's earlier attentions had relaxed her, Carly still suffered from adrenaline overload that was slowly eddying away. Sleepily, she asked Eric, "Can you pass my sketchbook and pencil?"

Eric retrieved them from the pouch in front of him and handed them to her.

She wrapped her arms around the sketchbook and drifted into a sleepy reverie. Although she wasn't truly asleep, a strange scene spread out before her. She could see a ceiling, covered in large popcorn plastering and painted a bright white. She couldn't turn her head, and she felt something against her tongue, a cool plastic tube. But she had some voices, drifting toward her. "Will she remain completely still, Philip?"

"Yes, the paralytic will keep her still, and we'll keep her alive as long as we like. The ventilator will keep her oxygen levels normal." She caught a glimpse of a man who stroked her forehead, expanded her eye, lifting up the lid to its full extent, which hurt a little. "We'll have to monitor her heart rate, because I'm sure the pain will be excruciating, so she might go into shock and cardiac arrest, but I'll try to prevent that as long as possible."

He moved out of view again and the voices were distant again. "If she starts to die, puncture her femoral artery and get as much of her blood as you can."

"I will. But you want most of the blood caught in sponges, right?"

"Yes. They should have an interesting effect."

"Yes. I'm looking forward to what you're doing with it." Philip sounded like an enthusiastic teenager. "Your paintings excite me so much, Sebastian."

"Thank you, Philip."

Carly heard the sounds of sucking and kissing and moaning.

"I'm so glad we're having fun like this before I turn you." More sucking and moaning. "You'll make such a wonderful vampire, Philip."

Eric shook Carly's shoulder gently. "You drifted off, sweet child."

Carly stretched and looked down at her sketchbook, where she'd drawn a man's face, out of focus, and small. "Yeah. I guess."

"You can sleep when you get home, sweet."

"Yes, but we've got a big problem."

Eric looked at her, worry weighing down his features. "What?"

Carly whispered to him: "Christophe has a human accomplice he's training to be a vampire—and I think he's a doctor or nurse or something." Carly knew she'd have to go back into this woman's death, experience the horror that Christophe and "Philip" had designed for her, and she dreaded it, especially since even having her eyelid lifted had pained her.

Eric just kissed her brow. He didn't even speak.

Pam picked them back up with the Fangtasia van, and they returned to the club. Eric asked Carly if he could work for a little while, and she agreed readily, because she thought she might be able to use the time to talk with Esther and Alan, who now sat free in the bar, sipping on Tru Blood at a table with her.

"So you're not a vampire, huh?" Esther asked.

"No." Carly shook her head. "Sorry that I didn't clarify it, but I didn't want to interrupt Eric." One of Carly's favorite classes in college was a comparative primatology seminar that she got to take as a senior. Without thinking of it too much, Carly understood that Eric was the silverback in this particular troop of gorillas, and she was just a little baby female who needed to stay out of the way. Although she could help, in small ways, she'd only get hurt if she tried to intervene in some greater way.

"You'd make a good vampire, though. Is Eric going to turn you?" Esther seemed to be interested in her, and Carly didn't know how much she should share.

Carly shrugged and replied, "I don't know. I like things the way they are, and he seems to as well. If I was a vampire, he couldn't drink from me, so things would change, I guess."

Esther laughed out loud and said, "No, it doesn't work that way. Vampires share blood all the time. You just have to drink from humans too." She leaned forward across the table and said quietly, "That's when things get really fun."

"Um, well, things are fun enough now, thanks." Carly had to refocus the conversation so that she could talk about Philip. "Have you ever made someone a vampire, Esther."

"No. I've had other things to do." Esther nodded toward Alan.

"If you did, how would you prepare them for it before they were turned?"

"I'd make sure they looked good, since you're always going to look about the same. You don't want to turn someone who's just been sick or who's really fat."

"Would you teach him anything about how to be a vampire while he was still human?"

Esther grinned lasciviously at her, "First, it would be a she, not a he."

"Okay. Would you teach her about how to kill people before you made her a vampire?" Carly cut to the chase with her question.

"Why would I want to turn some psycho?" Esther looked disgusted. "I like going to movies, going dancing. I like living in the open like we can now. It's been bad enough to have him around," she said thrusting her thumb toward Alan, "because I can't go anywhere." Esther glared at Alan again, "And I'd also make sure she wasn't an idiot."

"So you wouldn't want to turn a murderer?"

"No. I wouldn't." Esther tapped on the table. "Edgar turned me in New Orleans, but I used to live in Poland. I was a refugee and wound up working for a wealthy Jewish family in New Orleans who took me in after World War II." Esther shook her head violently, "Nazi psychos killed everyone in my town and made me into a whore. Why would I want to turn a killer? I know I have a crappy maker, but I know what good makers can be like." Esther thrust her chin toward Eric's office. "He's good to Pam, and she's always been happy. And there are others who are good to their progeny. I never had a problem feeding. I've never killed people, even when I was a baby, and I learned to glamour early, so they never suffer from it."

"From what I saw of you and Alan, you'll be a good maker, Esther."

The woman smiled, "Thank you, Carly. That means a lot to me."

Carly smiled back, but she also knew that her sense of morality had been completely upended in the week or so she'd known Eric. Vampire morality, where mercy constituted making your victims forget what you'd done to them, was its own system, and she struggled to hold on to her own sense of right and wrong that was based on the premise that each human life was unique and precious. For vampires, killing was a waste of natural resources, like throwing away a half-empty plate of food, something sloppy that could expose them to public scrutiny. Individual humans had no value, unless they belonged to a vampire. Carly also saw, however, that some makers believed their progeny had no value, beyond how they could enhance their own position in the world. These people, people like Edgar Martin, were a tremendous threat to everyone, and she feared that Martin seemed to have converted the Queen to his position.

"Esther, do you know of any other vampires who might feel differently than you? Who might want to start killing with a human before he was turned into a vampire?" Carly needed to find a way to get Esther talking about Christophe.

"Yes."

"Is there anything else that vampires like that look for when they choose a human to turn?"

"Sometimes. But can you be clearer?" Esther seemed to fish for a directive.

"Is there a particular profession he'd be more interested in than another? Like, would he prefer a doctor, or a nurse?" Carly was trying to use what little she'd learned from her lucid dream.

"Pharmacists. Believe it or not, I think he'd like pharmacists."

"Really?" Carly tried to figure out how she should proceed. "Is there a neighborhood with superior pharmacists?"

Esther smiled at her. "Monroe has very nice pharmacies, especially a number of pharmacies that also sell art supplies."

"Really? What else would such a drugstore, with superior pharmacists sell, since they obviously have late night hours?" Carly began to put together the Venn diagram in her head: a pharmacy with late hours, or at least hours after dark, that sold art supplies.

"I think such a store would also sell Hallmark, although they might only be open late one or two nights a week."

"And would a drugstore be a chain or a family enterprise?" Carly could avoid all the CVSes and Walgreens if she knew that it was a local business.

"Oh, yes, an independent pharmacist would be much better than a Walgreens pharmacist," Esther affirmed.

"Thank you, Esther."

Carly went into Eric's office, where she found Eric multitasking—on his cellphone, with his office phone off the hook, typing on his computer. She sat on the sofa and waited for him. While she waited, she scanned the office for a Monroe phonebook. She spotted one on the top of one of Eric's file cabinets and pulled it down.

After paging through to the yellow pages, Carly found the pharmacists' section and was able to narrow the field of independent pharmacists who also had gifts and cards down to three stores. All three had at least one night a week when they were open late, so she would probably have to go to all three stores to locate Philip the homicidal pharmacist.

Eric hung up his office phone, said goodbye to his cellphone interlocutor, and turned off his computer. "Carly, did you get any information from Esther and Alan?"

"Alan, I think, is the vampire equivalent of a potato, so he didn't tell me anything. Esther, on the other hand helped me a great deal." Carly pulled out her notes, "I used what I learned from the dream—that Christophe plans to turn whoever is helping him to kill these people—and asked if she had any idea about professions he might find attractive."

"Do you think that he's found a doctor?"

"I asked her about doctors and nurses, and she said that he would be attracted to pharmacists."

Eric put his fingertips together and asked, "Would a pharmacist be able to do the things that you saw?"

"Yes, I think so." Carly didn't know a great deal about medicine, but she knew that medical equipment was widely available. "I think that anybody could pick up a ventilator on Ebay, but a pharmacist would be able to get the drugs, tubes, and syringes."

"I saw you grabbed my Monroe phonebook." Eric pointed at her lap.

"She pointed me toward Monroe pharmacists and helped me narrow it down to independent pharmacies that carry art supplies and Hallmark cards."

"Don't these stores have standard business hours?"

"And they had to be open at night," Carly added.

"So tomorrow evening we tour Monroe pharmacies."

"Yay. Date night." Carly wished she could turn all of this over to the police, but knew that she had no justifiable reason to direct them toward a pharmacist named Philip who worked in an independent Monroe pharmacy.

Eric smirked, "I'm sure we could purchase all sorts of interesting things."

"I'll stock up on thank you cards."

Eric secured Alan and Esther in the basement and locked Fangtasia up for the night, before they went back to Carly's place for the last few hours of darkness. The drive was over so quickly, and Eric's driving was so fast and focused, they hadn't had a chance to speak before they were back in the house.

Once they got home, Eric sat on the couch and asked, "How are you holding up, Carly?"

"To be honest," Carly stretched and rubbed her face, "I don't know. I feel like I'm sleepwalking, or caught up in a dream that alternates between heaven and hell." She sat next to him. "Obviously, heaven is when I'm with you."

"Of course." Eric smiled at her broadly.

Carly smacked Eric's leg playfully and said "I guess you have to be arrogant and narcissistic if you live the life of a viking warrior."

Eric kissed her and finally said, "Thank you for recognizing my reasons."

Carly yawned, and Eric whispered, "You know that I want you desperately, but you should probably sleep a little."

"Yes, I should sleep." Carly kissed Eric deeply and wrapped her legs around him. "But I want you much more than sleep."

"That's my girl." Eric picked her up and walked the two of them downstairs to the bed in the cellar.


	24. Chapter 24

A/N Thank all my reviewers for your support and encouragement! I appreciate it all so much. As before, I own nothing having to do with True Blood or SVM.

Chapter Twenty-Four

After "another go-round," Carly collapsed and went straight into sleep. She lingered for some time in a lucid state, washed back and forth on the tide of sleep and wakefulness. Carly felt herself cresting the wave and then submerging again, dragged down into unconsciousness.

As she floated back into a sense of self, Carly was aware that she was in someone else's body. Again, she found herself immobilized, still, with a plastic tube poking from her throat. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, one hundred degrees from the top of her eyes.

She heard two men talking softly about her about how she might tolerate shock, about how to pump out her blood as efficiently as possible, and about one of their futures as a vampire. As she listened, Carly anticipated the suffering her body might endure and wondered how to discover her identity. She had no access to memories and no sense of self.

"How quickly do you need the blood, Sebastian?"

"Only a little at a time, so you should probably begin with her legs. Just like before, suck it up in sponges, and I'll use that for the background painting first."

"Fine." There was a loud sigh.

"Are you prepared to take her head and hands and destroy them separately."

"Yes, but I still don't know why I have to do it."

"Philip, you should not have chosen a woman who used your services. You should be mindful that police are clever. They can trace the vaguest connections."

"I know, but it's really a tangential connection. I can't see how anyone would trace it."

Carly heard something akin to growling, or snarling, "Philip. You cannot choose a woman without connections, without family, who has just recently moved to Louisiana, whose only connection of record is where she gets her birth control pills filled."

"Fine. No more Samantha Chase-s."

"No. No more Samantha Chase-s. Do you want me to go back to prostitutes?"

"No. I'm sure that was beginning to be conspicuous." A pause. "Try the art model angle. See if you can do it online. Get an anonymous cellphone and solicit them through that channel."

"Yes, master." The sound of kissing and sucking.

"You please me so much, Philip. Shall we set a date for your turning?"

"Oh, yes, please."

"I'm quite fond of Halloween. How does that sound to you?"

"It sounds perfect, Master. Thank you so much."

"Get started, Philip."

Carly felt a warm hand on the bottom of her foot.

"Samantha, we're doing an experiment. I know you don't understand, but this is very important work. I'm going to start with your feet."

A terrible jab of cold steel tore into the bottom of her left foot, and Carly felt the blade run the length of her entire foot. The pain was beyond horrible, but the body she was trapped in, poor Samantha Chase's body, couldn't move, or speak. It could only endure. She felt the prickling of something against her foot, and she could only assume it was the sponge.

The sequence of sensations repeated on her right foot, and then above her ankles, and then her shins. She knew that Samantha's heart rate was beginning to climb by the time Philip began to carve away at the skin on her left thigh. When the cutting began on Samantha's belly, Carly began to see the poor dying woman's hallucinations—the broiling purple clouds that swirled around her, where bloody dinosaurs and elephants emerged and ran in all directions.

Carly felt a spike in the inside of Samantha's right thigh, and she knew that Philip must have decided that Samantha was going to die from the horrifying pain, the shock, the blood loss. The pain screamed in her mind and drowned out everything around her, so the voices faded to whispers, and then...

...Carly's alarm sounded at 6:45 and woke her from the dream. Before it could fade, Carly noted down Samantha Chase's name and that she had her birth control pills filled at Casey's pharmacy. From what Carly learned, she doubted that a missing persons report existed for her. If Samantha had no remaining family, Carly had no idea how they could confirm her identity.

Before she climbed out of bed, Carly kissed Eric behind his ear and said, "I know you won't ever say this to me, so I'll say it for both of you: I love you, Eric Northman. And I'll love you as long as I can."

With those nihilistic thoughts in her mind—the inevitability of her heartbreak or her transformation into a vampire-fairy hybrid—Carly showered and ate breakfast. She decided that she needed to subscribe to a local newspaper, because she found herself living in a zone between time and space, in a limbo where she slept for moments between horrific dreams, in a netherworld where she somehow needed to solve crimes committed by vampires and humans alike.

At 7:30, she drove to work. Once she arrived, she made herself the largest cup of coffee the medical examiner's office could accommodate and she began working to locate Samantha Chase.

The search of Louisiana Missing Persons reports turned up nothing, but when Carly called the FBI regional office in New Orleans to check inter-state missing persons reports that had a Shreveport or Monroe connection, she hit pay-dirt. A former college roommate had reported Samantha Chase missing to her local FBI office in Milwaukee. The Milwaukee office contacted her landlord in Monroe, who saw nothing wrong in her apartment, and had not followed up beyond that inquiry. They planned to do so again at the beginning of the next month, because they would have some documentable confirmation that she was missing. According to the roommate's report, Samantha had moved to Monroe to be near a boyfriend who was transferred to Barksdale Air Force base, but the romance when south, but she'd decided to stay in the area nonetheless. Samantha still didn't have a full-time job or many other contacts, so it fell to this distant friend to report her recent disappearance.

Carly put together the information she got from the FBI agent and from the Louisiana missing persons reports and put together a "probability chart" that offered a snapshot characterizing their date of disappearance, age, stature, and racial and ethnic signifiers. After looking at her chart, Carly breathed a sigh of relief that Samantha Chase was the best match by far.

It was almost 11 AM before Ellen came by to see her. The ME had a complex autopsy to do, which filled most of her morning, so she hadn't been able to check in with Carly when she arrived.

Ellen entered Carly's workspace, anticipation clearly delineated at her face, and said, "Well?"

"Yeah, so, her murder named her in my dream. I think she's Samantha Chase, formerly of Madison, Wisconsin, who moved to Monroe two months ago to join a boyfriend at Barksdale Air Force base. They broke up soon after she arrived, but she decided to stay."

Carly handed Ellen the "probability chart" that she'd compiled, and Ellen said, "Wow. We can give this to the police. That's amazing, Carly."

"Well, the murderer is going to be a little harder."

Ellen's face twisted in wonder, "Do you know who did it too?"

"Sort of, but it's not something that the police would normally figure out, so I'm going to work on it tonight with Eric."

"Your vampire boyfriend?"

"Yeah." Carly laughed. "The 'boy' part is a little silly. I'd probably just stop at saying 'my vampire.' You can only belong to one." Carly smiled at Ellen in an unexpected moment of solidarity.

"Oh, well, yeah." Ellen looked at the chart again and asked, "Can you tell me who did it?"

"I don't think I should." Carly shrugged her shoulders, "My plan is that he's going to want to confess after a few minutes talking to us."

"Well, I'll get this over to the detectives and see if they can get into her apartment today." Ellen began walking out of the room.

"She doesn't have any living relatives, so ask them to bag anything with DNA," Carly instructed. "I don't know about medical records, but I'll send a query to the student health center at Wisconsin. Maybe they have a pap smear or something else."

"Good." Ellen practically ran out of the room. After about a minute or two, she came back, "I'm sorry, Carly, do you want to get some lunch?"

Carly appreciated the effort. "That would be great. Coffee too. I'm really tired."

They went back to the luncheonette, and Carly treated herself to a hamburger and a milkshake. It took a while to find a topic of conversation, but they finally landed on "moving to Shreveport."

Ellen went to medical school in San Antonio, Texas, and worked her first jobs in Texas, even though she was originally from California. Her family came through Boston and New York. She'd been in Shreveport for eight years, and she generally liked it, although it was lonely. Carly remained detached from Ellen's thoughts, although she watched them pass through the space between them. Ellen relied on anti-anxiety medication to get through the day, had horrific nightmares where bodies in the morgue autopsied her alive, and mourned the death of her long-time boyfriend who'd died of cancer two years ago. She tried to stay involved in the lives of his children, but his ex-wife tried to minimize their contact, partially because she feared her oldest daughter might become even more death-obsessed than the teenager already was.

When Ellen turned the conversation around and asked Carly to talk about her life, Carly felt like she didn't have a great deal to say. Her dad had never been part of her life, although she showed Ellen the small copy she carried in her wallet. Carly talked a little bit about her animals, particularly her dogs, and about her Uncle Benjamin. Carly got really enthusiastic when she started talking about the excitement at excavations, watching as team-members unearthed history, returning faces to dead people who lived five hundred or a thousand years before. By the end of lunch, Carly felt some kinship with Ellen. She too was a professional woman, who worked hard, who felt called to her work, but still retained a core afflicted by sadness and loneliness.

It wasn't until they started back that Ellen began walking more slowly, and then finally asked, "How much have you slept in the last week?"

Carly tried to do the math. "Jeez, I don't know. Maybe 18 hours over the last seven days." Carly thought for a few minutes, and then wondered out loud, "I really don't know how restful my sleep ever is."

"Since your project is grant funded, you're salaried." Ellen smiled and said, "Since you've already identified two people in your first four days, why don't you go home and rest."

"Really?"

"Yeah, why not?"

Carly got her things from the office and went out to her car. After she pulled out of the parking lot, she didn't find herself on the road home. Instead, she pulled over and then flipped to the page in her sketchbook where she'd written down the addresses of the three pharmacies in Monroe that met her criteria, where she thought she might track down Philip, the murderous pharmacist and wannabe vampire.

The trip to Monroe wasn't terrible, although when she passed the turnoff toward Bon Temps, Carly felt a nearly overwhelming pull, but she really didn't have the time to spend if she wanted to get back to Shreveport by nightfall. She had a simple plan: go into each pharmacy, ask the pharmacist a quick question, take note of the names of the pharmacists, and then make a small purchase. A little after an hour and a half, Carly pulled into the first pharmacy, which was on a frontage road just off I-20.

As soon as she walked into the store, she knew that she'd be able to turn back around and drive back to Shreveport. Just to the right of the door of Casey's Drugs and Gifts of Monroe, Louisiana, two huge portraits hung on the wall: the portrait of a distinguished gentleman in his sixties, Philip Casey III, hung above one of a man in his late twenties or early thirties, Philip Casey IV. Nonetheless, Carly wandered around, found the arts supplies section, and decided to buy a beautiful set of pastels and a small pastel pad. Just to provide justification for asking the pharmacist a question, Carly grabbed a small bottle of nose-spray and walked to the counter.

The elder Philip the pharmacist was behind the counter, filling small bottles of drugs.

"Excuse me, sir, could I ask you a question about this medicine?" Carly smiled as flirtatiously as she could manage given the circumstances.

"Yes, my dear, what can I do for you." The gentleman pharmacist took off the reading glasses that perched on his nose and came down to stand next to Carly on the other side of the counter.

Carly smiled again and asked, "I've been taking allergy medicine, but I'm still congested. Is this safe if I'm taking loratadine or another allergy medicine?" Carly proffered the box to the pharmacist.

"Oh, yes, dear. It's completely safe, although I would advise that you take this once in the late afternoon and then once when you get up, since it only lasts twelve hours. That way it shouldn't disrupt your sleep."

"Thank you." Carly smiled again. "I'm so happy to see a family-run pharmacy here. I just moved to the area from Memphis, so I'll be sure to shop here again."

"Welcome to Monroe, then. We're happy to have your business."

"And it's great that you're open late too. Is that when your son is working?" Carly smiled.

"Yes, it is, although he works a great deal with our suppliers." The elder Philip smiled conspiratorially and said, "And I'm sure my wife, up there in the front, will be happy to find out if you're single." He winked at her.

Carly giggled and said, "Well, I don't know." If she thought she could pull it off, she probably would have said, "Ah, shucks." Instead, she said, "Well, have a nice afternoon."

At the register, Carly encountered a well-coiffed southern lady with a lovely manicure and sunny manner, who greeted her with "Is that all we can get for you today, dear?"

"If I'm not careful, I think the pharmacist will send me away with a date." Carly's response flirty response was intentional, although something she would never do in her real life. She wanted to assess this woman's sense of her son, since she was obviously Mrs. Casey.

The lady smiled and said, "You must have made the mistake of telling my husband you were new in town." She continued to smile as she rung up Carly's items. Carly peered into Mrs. Casey's mind and heard a strong internal monologue: _Don't know when that man is gonna get it through is head that his son's a fairy. Don't know why he's always trying to railroad these nice girls into a sexless marriage with his queeny son. Of course, like father like son. Apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Shoulda __listened to my mother, but didn't want to give her the satisfaction of coming home._

"Well, if I stay in Monroe, I might take him up on it and give your son my number."

"Oh," Mrs. Casey smiled, "Lil' Phil is from Philip's first marriage, but he's still a son to me." _Son of mine woulda been normal._

Mrs. Casey gave Carly her change, Carly took a business card, and the two women exchanged good-byes.

As Carly drove back to Shreveport, all she could think of was how much happier Philip, Sr. would be with a gay son than a gay murderer son. The poor man, Carly thought, just had no idea the shame and horror he had before him. Life was going to be very difficult for all of them very soon.

Carly headed back along the highway to Shreveport and felt ecstatic that she would actually have a few minutes to herself outside of work, and dreaming, and worrying about vampire politics and crime. She'd have a chance to sit and think, and then sneak down into the cellar to be next to Eric when he woke. A thrill of excitement traveled up her body, lingering just below her belly button, as she imagined how she'd be there when he awoke. How she'd trail her hair down his body and perhaps even trace the contours of his muscles with her lips, or her tongue. How she'd rub her cheek against the muscular girdle that framed his pelvis, the muscles that were nearly as beautiful as those on Michelangelo's David. Muscles he'd developed wielding a sword, or rowing a long-boat, that had luxuriated in Byzantine courtyards while he guarded ancient treasuries.

She missed her exit because of her fantasy and had to double-back. The detour gave her time to think about everything she'd do once he was awake and ready for her. Carly marveled that Eric had transformed her from a frigid, fearful virgin to a wanton near sex-addict in nearly a week. She couldn't help but start laughing hysterically as she pulled into the driveway and stopped in front of her door.

As she'd expected, Eric lay entirely still in the cellar, in the same position he'd been in when she'd left that morning. His blond hair fell over his ear, and she ran it through her fingers. His hair fell behind his ears, and Carly gently traced the outline of his ear, then ran the tips of her fingers along the base of his skull, tracing the muscles down to his shoulders and across to the center of his chest. She kissed the space between his clavicles and then stripped off her clothes. If she was going to be against Eric's cold body, which she refused to see as dead since it had so much life in it, she wanted to be naked.

Once she'd within his orbit, Carly tried to analyze her feelings. She felt secure in his presence, joyful even with the adversity they faced, and full of anticipation for his awakening. Carly imagined that must have been how her mother felt as she lay next to her father, as much a being of magic and the supernatural as Eric. Although Carly hadn't met Arianna, she suspected, just from talking to her, how magnetic she must be, how bewildering her presence must be. If her father was like that, if the little spark of light that inhabited her mother—the legacy of ancient fairy forebearers—was drawn into the vortex of his darkness, how could she have resisted him? More than anything, at that moment, Carly wished she knew something of her father, something more than his portrait, something more than the blurry photographs and blurrier descriptions of him that Edna and Uncle Benjamin offered. "Why didn't you leave me anything of you, Daddy?"

With that plea and wish on her lips, Carly fell asleep.

Carly fell into dreaming almost as soon as she fell into sleep, so tired she was. She felt warm, and insulated from everything, and saw a tiny circle of light above her. Carly couldn't move her arms, or her legs, but that fact only gave her a sense of security. Then the circle of light darkened, and she saw a field of blue instead. She heard a resonant baritone voice whisper to her. "Carlotta. Sweet Carlotta, how is daddy's girl?"

Strong hands grasped her body and lifted her into a close embrace, where she could make out the tan of skin above a field of blue. "Sweet Carlotta, your mommy's sleeping. She's so tired, but I couldn't resist coming in to play with you."

A soft humming whispered the contours of a melody that Carly didn't recognize. It was otherworldly, almost celestial in its rhythms and key. "I never thought you were possible, sweet Carlotta. I didn't know you could happen." The man laughed and whispered, "Carlotta, beautiful girl, you are the stuff of legend, a child of darkness and light, a daughter of two realms, descendant of Friagabi. Ravens will fly through your dreams, my child. Your mother, even though she doesn't know it, sings to you in strains of Avalon."

Carly felt herself rock back and forth and heard a sweet song, with words she couldn't recognize, but a tune she remembered from childhood, a tune she remembered hearing her mother sing, but with different words. "My darling Carlotta, when you come of age, you'll meet my family, you'll fly through the vortex and meet them all." The song continued, and felt herself floating within his strong arms.

"Carly." She heard another rich deep voice impinge upon her dream. "Carly, are you okay, my sweet child?"

She felt her hands and feet return and felt the cool touch of lips against her forehead. "Carly, why are you crying?"

And then she woke with her cheeks covered in tears. She looked up into Eric's concerned blue eyes. "I was dreaming."

"Was it painful?"

"No, it was beautiful." Carly reached up and grabbed a fist-full of Eric's hair and drew him toward her so she could kiss him. "I dreamt my own dream. I dreamt of my dad."

Eric held her for a few minutes more and then licked away her tears.

Carly described her dream to Eric, how she must have been swaddled, how her father picked her up and held her tight against his blue chambray shirt. "Eric, have you ever heard the name Friagabi?"

Eric pushed himself up and looked down on her in wonder. "He said that name in your dream?"

"Yes, he said I was a descendant of Friagabi. Do you know what that means?"

He began laughing, picking her up and balancing her on his knees. "You should fly, my sweet valkyrie. I haven't used that name in vain." Eric swept her up, laughing, and twirling her around, until she was laughing.

"Eric, stop," Carly begged. "I don't understand."

"Friagabi is one of the valkyries—her name means 'Giver of Freedom.' I never heard her name in Sweden, but I did in Frisia—and Frisians settled among the English and among the northern Germans." Eric kissed her and spun her round again. "Does my lady have any other royal lineage I should know about?"

"There was something about my mom and strains of Avalon—that's something to do with King Arthur, right?"

"Yes, that's where his fairies lived."

"I guess they wound up, somehow, in Amsterdam, or something like that."

Eric laughed and said, "Who knows. But you have some answers."

"Makes me feel a little silly, though," Carly said sheepishly. "All I had to do was ask to dream about him, and I did."

"So now you know." Eric kissed her again and seemed, for the first time, to appreciate her nudity. "Sweet Carly, I haven't thanked you for the pleasant awakening you offered."

"I was trying to reward you, especially since we do have the night together."

"Really? How? I thought we were going to check out pharmacies in Monroe?"

Carly grinned, pleased with herself. "I already found him."

"So I get to make love to a valkyrie Nancy Drew?"

"Yes." Carly jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist. "Which is sexier?"

"Oh, the valkyrie is much, much sexier." Eric kissed her and fell down with her on the bed.

They explored each other, laughed, made love, and climaxed together over and over three hours, until Carly finally cried out, "Uncle!"

"I hope not. Your uncle didn't like women, did he?"

"No, Eric," Carly panted. "I just mean, I need a break. I need to eat and go to the bathroom. I'm starving, and I'm going to burst if I don't pee."

"Fine." Eric pouted, playfully, and accompanied her upstairs.

As Carly made herself a sandwich, Eric asked, "So could we convince Christophe's accomplice to turn himself in tonight?"

"I don't see how. His pharmacy is open until ten. It has to be later than that now."

"It's 9:15. We could still make it, as long as you are willing to hold on tight." Eric smiled.

"I thought it had to be later." Carly laughed. "You're never going to let me sleep again, are you?"

"You can sleep when I do."

"I have a job—in the daytime."

"You don't have to."

Carly had never considered the possibility. "No, I have a job. You don't need to take care of me."

"Suit yourself, for now." Eric's grin was mischievous and slightly menacing.

"Scary vampire."

"Damn right. Get dressed, little valkyrie. We have glamouring to do."

Carly and Eric dressed quickly, and then went outside. Carly told him how to find the pharmacy, and then she wrapped herself around Eric, and they took off. She held her face against Eric's chest, so she could ignore the wind as it whipped her hair and beat against her skin. Even though she knew the unprotected couldn't endure speeds nearing the sound barrier, Carly was certain that their bodies had broken it. Throughout their journey, she thought of her father's words, that ravens would fly through her dreams. She doubted ravens could fly as quickly as Eric could.

Before she knew it, they hit the ground five hundred yards behind the pharmacy, and Eric ran, at top speed to the back of the building. He set Carly down on the ground gently, and she struggled to recover her equilibrium.

As she struggled with her balance, Eric pulled out a comb and straightened her hair and his own. "You can't look like you just flew in," Eric joked. Then he asked, "I would prefer that we waited for him. What would you like to do?"

Carly stopped and thought for a moment. She looked at her surroundings and noticed a Waffle House half a mile away. It's yellow Scrabble-board letters triggered a memory. "If I went in by myself, do you think he might call Christophe? Do you think we could trap both of them?"

Eric considered the suggestion. "Do they have any jewelry in there?"

She thought for a moment and remembered a display case at the front of the store filled with crosses and charms of various sorts. "You want a silver chain, or something like that, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Yes, I saw silver jewelry, and I remember that it said that it was stainless silver." As she thought more, she also remembered some silver wedding sets, with serving spoons and silvered guest books. "I think there would be plenty. But we'd have to get Philip to turn off the security cameras. Or I could just buy it first."

Eric pulled his wallet out and gave her four one hundred dollar bills. "Buy what you think we'll need, come outside, and then go back in and tell him someone stole your car."

"Okay." She batted her eyes, "And I'll make sure to flirt up a storm and tell him how I have no family and no friends here."

Carly ran around to the front of the store and went inside. No one else was in the store. She heard a man's voice from the back, "Excuse me, hi, I'm sorry, but we're going to be closing in a few minutes."

She jogged back to the pharmacy. "Hi, I'm sorry. I co-worker just called and told me about a surprise bridal shower at work tomorrow. I was in here earlier, and I noticed that you had bridal silver sets and necklaces and things at the front. Could I buy a couple of things really fast?"

Carly waited a beat, and then heard, "Well, I'm expecting a friend to come meet me, so I need to be done, but I know my dad would be angry if I refused to sell something that expensive." Philip Jr. smiled awkwardly and then moved toward the front display case with a key in hand.

"Thank you so much," Carly gushed. "I'm so glad that I stopped here earlier today." She laughed, "Even though your dad seemed to want to set us up with each other."

"Yeah, sorry, he does that."

"Well, parents just want their kids to be happy." Carly smiled sweetly and said with a wistful tone, "I wish I still had my parents around so they could try to set me up."

"They're dead? I'm sorry."

"They died three years ago. They'd both lost their parents, so I'm on my own."

"Really? And you said you just stopped by today?"

"Yeah, I was transferred here a week ago for my job. I'm in sales." Carly pointed to the bridal set that said "sterling silver" and also pointed to two necklaces. "Those necklaces are really pretty. Could I get them too? I don't usually buy things for myself." Carly giggled.

When they got to the register, Carly thought she'd pry and try to identify the "friend" that Philip was waiting for. Her suspicion was that it would be Christophe. Perhaps, she thought, she didn't need to play the damsel in distress after all. Perhaps she and Eric could just hide until he arrived.

"So are you waiting for your girlfriend?" Carly said flirtatiously.

"No." Philip spoke in a monotone that barely contained his disgust. He didn't provide any further information, although Carly could hear his thoughts clearly. _Sebastian might like her, but he said he didn't want to do anything again for a while. Some sheriff might be after him. But she doesn't have any family. Maybe I can just keep track of her, and then when he's ready...I'll get her number, maybe make a date? Who would she tell? Or maybe I could get her address from a reverse lookup..._ "If you'd like, I could show you around the area?"

Carly smiled, cocked her head to the side, and stroked a lock of hair—rehearsing all the cues that supposedly signaled sexual desire in women. "Can I give you my number?"

"That would be great." Philip tried to muster a genuine smile of attraction, but instead conjured a look nearer to repulsion.

"Do you have a piece of paper? And your name is Philip, right?" Carly pointed at his picture, and Philip nodded, then she put her old phone number, with a Monroe area code, on the paper, and wrote "Debbie" above it.

"Great," Philip looked at the paper, "Debbie. I'll call you, okay?"

"Sure. Anytime."

As Carly walked out of the pharmacy, she grabbed hold of Philip's strain of thought again. _I've got to close up in here quickly. Sebastian will be expecting the back door to be open in about ten minutes._

She ran back to Eric, who was crouched in a shadow. "Christophe is going to be at the back door in ten minutes. We could probably hide inside."

"Original plan, but hold onto your bag and hold the door so I can come in after you." Eric gave her the quick directive, and they both approached the corner of the pharmacy.

She went to the front and knocked on the now-locked front door and watched as lights slowly went out one by one. Carly knocked louder and more frantically and saw Philip approach, a look of apprehension and anger on his face. He opened the door begrudgingly.

"Hi, Philip, I'm sorry, but my car won't start. Can I call AAA? It will be quick, and you don't have to wait or anything."

"Uh..." Philip hesitated and then said, "Yeah, sure, I guess."

Carly held the door fully open and said, "Thank you so much."

Her thank you was long enough for Eric to come through the door, which Carly immediately locked. Eric pushed Philip against the front counter and said, "Philip Casey, you will allow us to hide here until your guest arrives, but you will have to return inside to retrieve something you've forgotten. You will ask him to come with you and when I apprehend him, you will say nothing. Do you understand?"

Philip nodded and whispered, "Yes, I understand."

Eric continued, "And, Philip Casey, as soon as we leave, you will call 911 and say you wish to confess to all the violence you have done with this friend of yours, and that you want to take the police to all the evidence, and give them all the information they want. Do you understand?"

Philip nodded again, "Yes, I will."

"Good." Eric let go of Philip, and then said, "Philip, continue closing as you usually would and ignore everything we do. Do not betray our presence."

"Yeah, sure."

Eric grabbed a pair of men's work gloves from a shelf and pulled them on. In response, Carly unclasped the silver chains, tossed aside their charms, and removed the serving set from its packaging. As she walked past a display of perfume, she grabbed a bottle and sprayed herself all over.

"What was that for?" Eric asked.

"Your blood wasn't available, so Shalimar will have to do." Carly saw a bottle of Lysol in the pharmacy, so she opened that and spilled it on the floor. "That should help too."

"Carly," Eric said admiringly, "you really are brilliant."

"Thank you."

Eric floated up to the ceiling and waited expectantly, while Carly crouched behind a pile of boxes. Philip began humming a cheerful tune as he gathered up a selection of pencils, pads, and charcoals. He seemed light and cheerful. Carly tuned into his mind and was nauseated by the visions that were inspiring his song. She was certain that the seven dwarfs never skinned, exsanguinated, and raped a man, especially not in that order.

A knock at the back door pulled her out of her repulsion, and she heard Philip call out "Come on in, Sebastian. The door's open."

The door opened, and Christophe, the dark slight vampire, sauntered a few steps into the room. "How is my protege? What have you been doing in here?"

Eric dropped from the ceiling and pinned Christophe to the floor. Carly heard the sounds of bones breaking, muscles ripping, and blood dripping on the floor.

"Fucking Northman!" Christophe screamed.

"Hello, old friend," Eric said. "I enjoyed the portrait you did of me."

"Fucking stupid viking," Christophe cried out in agony. "Philip! Help me you stupid ass."

"Philip Casey," Eric intoned quietly. "Go sit down at the register. You will near nothing that anyone says but me until we leave, and then you follow all the instructions I gave you prior."

"Yes." Philip walked to the register and sat down.

"Philip! Goddamn it, listen to me!" Christophe called out, fruitlessly, to his student, who simply ignored him and began humming again absently.

"Sweetheart, could you bring the silver?" Eric spoke to Carly calmly. "You may not want to do this, but I would like you to grab my knife, and then insert the silver into the fracture."

"Sure."

Carly pulled Eric's pocket knife out, and then inserted the knife into Christophe at the fracture point on his arm. Then she slipped the knife from the serving set along the blade until it sat between the pieces of the broken bone. She went around to Christophe's other side and did the same with the server, although it took more time to open the wound.

Eric rotated himself around, with his foot on Christophe's neck, so that Carly could wrap the silver around his wrists and his ankles. "Okay," Eric said, "Now I just have to get him back to Shreveport."

"Wait," Carly said. "Let me get some tape." Carly grabbed a roll of packing tape, which she put over the silver chains and the exposed portions of the servers. She ran over to get one more silver chain—she threw forty dollars on the counter in front of Philip—so that she could wrap Christophe's jaw closed, and then taped over the silver and taped Christophe's mouth shut. "I doubt you want a soundtrack or his fangs."

"Thank you for thinking of that, Carly."

"No problem. I'll walk over to the Waffle House, and then you can come back and get me, okay?"

"Sounds good."

Eric tossed Christophe over his shoulder and then took off at top speed. As Carly was about to leave the pharmacy, she spotted a double deck of video recorders that she assumed were attached to a security camera, since they were rolling. She ejected the tapes and then left the building. As she walked toward the Waffle House, she tossed the tapes in the dumpster.

When she walked into the Waffle House, she sat at the counter, and looked over to the waitresses who were clustered around the coffee pots. A bubbly young waitress walked over and asked, "What can I get you?"

"I'll have a waffle, some bacon, and a glass of orange juice."

"Sounds good. It'll be just a second."

Once her juice came, Carly looked out the window, back at the pharmacy. Within five minutes, a police car, lights on but sirens off, approached, and then another, and another.

Carly said audibly, but quietly, "One murderer confessed, one vampire silvered. Now we just have to figure out how to take down a blood-dealing queen."

"What, honey?" The waitress asked.

"Nothing. Just looking at the police cars around the pharmacy."

"I hope nobody's hurt," the waitress exclaimed.

Carly replied, "Some people were. Not anymore."


	25. Chapter 25

A/N I know this is getting to a climax, but I may not be able to post an update until the end of the holiday weekend. I'd like to thank everyone who has reviewed my work—I really appreciate the encouragement, and I think the next couple of sections will answer some of your questions. As always, I own nothing to do with True Blood and SVM..

Chapter Twenty-Five

Without anything to read or a sketch book, Carly dawdled as she ate, killing time until Eric retrieved her, one way or another. Fearing that she'd be awake all night, instead of just part of it, she avoided drinking coffee and asked for hot water and lemon. After the police finally departed the pharmacy, once Philip the elder pharmacist arrived to cry, throw himself on the ground in despair, and then lock up the store, and after she'd finished her fourth cup of hot water, Carly heard tires screech outside and a roaring engine purr to a halt. She looked over her shoulder and watched as Eric unfolded himself out of his car.

He entered the diner with a broad smile and a clean set of clothes. The waitresses watched as he entered, walked up to the counter, took Carly's head in his hand and kissed her. "Sorry to have kept you waiting, beautiful."

"No problem. I'm glad you brought the car." Carly smiled and kissed him in return.

Eric didn't sit down but looked at the waitresses, pointed at Carly and said, "Her bill, please."

Carly's waitress scampered over with a piece of paper and said, "Yeah, here it is, sir."

Eric looked at it in passing and handed her a twenty. He turned to Cary and said, "Service good?"

She nodded, so he said, "Keep the change."

The waitress smiled to receive a tip almost as much as the original bill and waved at them as they left the diner.

"How can you stand to eat in there, Carly? It stinks, like burning flesh." Eric made a mock retching sound.

Carly responded, "We all have our triggers, I guess. It doesn't bother me." She wasn't interested, however, in Eric's opinion about bacon or waffles, but in his prisoner. "Did Christophe give you any problem?"

"He bled all over everything. Pam's furious with me, because they put down the new floor near the stage, and it's not varnished yet. They'll have to strip it tomorrow."

"What are you going to do?" Carly didn't really understand the next step that Eric had to take.

"Well, I have to take you home—I presumed you wouldn't want to fly after eating."

"Thank you," Carly interjected.

"No problem." Eric sped away and said, "Then I'll have to get him to talk and eventually call the queen."

Eric accelerated up to nearly one hundred miles an hour and they sped back to Shreveport. After about ten minutes of silence, Carly asked, "Why do you have to call the queen?"

"I need her to contact the Magister; she has to authorize all trials and punishments of vampires within her kingdom." Eric tried to explain the procedure in the simplest terms possible. "If it's a small infraction, or the vampire is from another area, then I can notify the Magister, but this is a significant issue, and he'll have to visit."

Carly tried to process this simplified version of vampire law and make generalizations. "So, if a vampire, like Esther, is one of her..." she searched for the right word.

"...dependents," Eric supplied the term.

"Okay, dependents," Carly repeated, "then she has to summon the Magister."

"Yes."

"And you're afraid that she won't, or will try to silence you, because she's in cahoots with Edgar and Christophe in blood trafficking."

"Yes, again, Carly. That's exactly what I'm afraid of, since she already tried once to trap me in a way where she could order my death for feeding upon her favorite without her permission."

"That was convenient, wasn't it, since I'm guessing that Andre—who lied about her invitation to feed on Hadley—would be the one to kill you, right?"

Eric smirked, "If he could. I doubt he'd be able to, even armed to the teeth."

"Okay, but if a vampire isn't her dependent, then you, as sheriff, can notify the Magister, who then, I would guess, notifies the vampire king responsible for the vampire who has caused trouble in your area."

"Exactly." Eric smiled, impressed. "You have a very good mind for laws. You should have been an attorney."

"My mom said that too, but it seemed as if I'd have a really unfair advantage over people."

"True." Eric laughed, "But I know I pay a fortune for my mind-reading attorney."

"Really? Is he a fairy?" Carly was beginning to think that fairies were as common as terriers.

"No, a demon."

"Wow."

"He's not like what you'd expect. He's quite pleasant to be around. Rather corpulent, but highly entertaining and very reliable."

"Good to know." Carly giggled. "I'll tell my mom to look out for fat, pleasant lawyers, just in case they're demons."

Eric smiled back at her, and Carly felt suddenly on a more equal footing with her thousand year old vampire, as if she were learning the rules of his world, learning to negotiate the huge differences between hers and his successfully.

"I've got a silly question, though."

"What?"

"What do you do when you have a vampire in custody who is supposed to be dead? How can a dead vampire be anybody's dependent? If he's dead, doesn't that make him a non-person?"

Eric swerved onto the shoulder, and the car skidded to a stop after fish-tailing for a moment, while Carly braced herself for an impact that didn't come.

"Eric!" Carly yelled, "What the hell?"

"You're fucking brilliant, Carly."

"Why?"

"I don't have to call the queen, because how could she know Christophe was even here? If she admitted to knowing that he was in my area, she should have contacted the central authority to report his existence." Eric smiled and rubbed his hand over the steering wheel. "I could even kill Christophe myself. Why not? According to authorities, I already killed him three hundred years ago."

"That wasn't entirely what I was thinking, Eric." Carly felt sick to her stomach. Her intention had been to protect Eric from the queen's machinations, not to enable him to kill a vampire—even one who'd murdered people horrifically and who sought to consume and do who knows what to her.

Eric smiled, "I know, Carly. But it's true. No wonder Christophe kept asking me why I was locking him up. He probably expected that I would just kill him quickly."

The car began to roll back down the highway, and they soon rejoined the flow of traffic back to Shreveport. "Christophe will expect me just to kill him, not to interrogate him."

"Probably." Carly felt somewhat relieved. "So you're not just going to kill him?"

"No, I can't." Eric shook his head and replied, "If I just kill him, Edgar or the queen will just start with someone else. Also, I have to find a way to either destroy Edgar or force him to release Esther and Alan, otherwise he'll just order them to continue and carry out Christophe's work, whatever it is."

"I'm glad to hear that, Eric."

"Carly, don't be mistaken." Eric's gaze turned as cold as the edge of a sword and the light that reflected from his eye was macabre and icy. "I don't have any reservation about killing anyone, human or vampire, who endangers me or those I care about." He placed his hands over hers. "But it's not always in my interest just to kill those who get in my way—in fact, it can be unwise for me to lose my temper."

Carly didn't know exactly what she'd expected from him. She couldn't possibly expect him to pronounce some set of morals comparable to a human being's, or to hers, or to suggest that he wanted justice most of all. With a thousand years of life experience, and an ethical and moral foundation forged in medieval Scandinavia, Eric Northman would always see the world refracted differently than she would, even if both angles produced the same picture. She resolved to be satisfied if the result seemed just to her, if what Eric did appeared merciful to her understanding, and if the retribution he effected seemed right to her. Carly just hoped she could continue to see the world through some other lens than self-interest and self-protection. Or perhaps, she just would continue to fool herself into thinking that wasn't how she already saw the world.

When they hit the Shreveport city limits, Carly asked, "Can I go with you to Fangtasia?"

"Why, Carly?" Eric seemed troubled. "I don't want you to see what I'm going to do to him."

Carly suggested, "Eric, you're operating under the assumption that you'll have to torture him."

"Yes."

"Well, why?"

"Why would he answer my questions?" Eric asked.

"Perhaps it's not in his interest to do so?"

"I can't see how it's in his interest to answer them."

"If he answers your questions, he'll learn that you value his testimony against other vampires." Carly tried to reason with him.

"He'll see the same thing if I torture him," Eric responded, adding, "And he deserves it."

Carly had an idea that she couldn't formulate quite yet into words. "Would you let me try something? And if it doesn't work, you can have Pam take me home. Or I'll go sleep in your office."

Eric shrugged. "I don't see how it would harm anything if you did."

When they entered the club, they didn't see Alan, Esther, or Pam. Eric called out, and they emerged from what would likely be the kitchen or bar/prep area. He asked, "Are you hiding?"

Pam replied, "They didn't want to be out here when you started working on Christophe. They're babies, Eric, and cowards." Pam sounded exasperated with their reticence.

"Keep them close by," Eric advised. "I might need them. You never know."

"Can I take them in your office, so I can at least sit in a decent chair?" Pam whined at her maker and flexed her ankles. "These shoes are a little higher than usual."

Eric pouted back at her, "You can take your lazy aching feet back into the office and wait for me." Then he added, "You might need to take Carly home."

"She's going down there with you?" Esther asked, horrified.

"Yes," Carly answered. "I think I may know a way to get him to talk."

"He'll never talk to you," Esther responded. "All he wants is Edgar."

Carly lifted a shoulder in response and said, "Probably, but it won't hurt anybody if I try."

As Carly descended the stairs with Eric, she tried to clear her mind. She recalled the vivid hallucination she'd had of Cherisse's kidnapping, and then thought of the way she'd compelled Sookie to see what was in her own mind, and how she'd glamoured John, the young man Alan and Esther fed upon. When she saw Christophe, part of her felt pity. He hung by his broken arms, punctuated with silver, his mouth, hands, and feet still held together by silver.

Neither Carly nor Eric spoke when they came face to face with the renegade vampire.

"Can I borrow your pocket knife, Eric?"

He handed it to her, and she cut off the tape that covered the silver containing Christophe's jaw. She unwrapped the silver chain from his head, and as she finally loosed his head, he attempted to bite her. Carly said, "No, Christophe," sharply, as she would a naughty puppy, and he was startled into quiescence.

Carly closed up the pocket knife and handed it back to Eric. Standing before Christophe, she took her hands and placed them firmly upon each of his cheeks and stared into his eyes. The two stood there, her eyes transfixed by his, and she bored into his mind, into his past, and into the life he lived as a human. Within a minute, Carly saw a vortex swirling before her within the triangle made of his eyes and nose. Slowly it expanded to take in his entire face, and then the winds of the vortex cleared, allowing her passage into a corridor, into a hallway where Christophe stood at the end, a monumental canvas before him, a short, older man, dissipated, hands arthritic, to his left, barking orders at him.

"You have the light all wrong. The left side of his forehead is illuminated, but the right side of his jaw is in the light. How do you justify that?"

"I'm sorry master, I'll do better. I can change it."

"You must understand, Christophe, I cannot allow anything to leave my workshop under my name, unless it is a masterpiece."

"Yes, master."

Carly popped back into the room, and Christophe was growling at her. "What are you doing to me?"

"Trying to understand," was all Carly said.

The process repeated, but Carly found herself instead before Christophe as he knelt at the feet of another man—she recognized him from the sketches she'd done from Alan's mind—Edgar, and Christophe begged, "Please, father, do you approve of my work?"

"No. You call yourself a vampire, Christophe? You're pathetic. Why did I give you life, when you're not even worth my attention? You told me you were an artist, and this is what you give me?"

Carly saw, on the wall, the form of a crucified and bleeding woman, a real woman—not a painting. "There's no art in this. Just the same tired, pathetic shit I've seen in churches. You think it's clever to make Christ a whore? You think this will win me any praise or gold?"

"Master, I strive to please you."

Carly emerged, back in the room, still holding tightly to Christophe's face. "How sad," Carly whispered.

Christophe was trembling, "What is she doing, Northman?"

Eric was leaning against the wall, absently looking around the room, "I have no idea, Christophe."

"Tell me, Christophe, what do you want," Carly whispered. "Why do you do this?"

"Northman, get her away from me," Christophe begged.

"No," Eric replied. "I find this quite entertaining."

"Now, Christophe, look at me. What do you want?"

"Out. I want it to be over. I want that bastard to keep his promise!" Christophe nearly screamed.

"Who?"

"Edgar," Christophe started crying, "he told me he'd let me go, let me die, if I made him rich."

Eric swept up next to the whimpering vampire, "Why do you want to die?"

"It's what I was trying to do when he found me. I'd stabbed myself, but Edgar turned me. I've always wanted out, ever since Rembrandt told me I couldn't be his apprentice any more."

"Why haven't you just met the sun?" Eric asked quietly.

"Edgar commanded me not to." Eric sobbed. "I've tried so many ways, but he's always stopped me. He sent a man after me when you pinned me to the tree, and then drained his blood into me when I refused to feed from him."

Carly still held tight to Christophe's face, "Why would you offer to make Philip a vampire if you hate your existence so much?"

"So I could command him to kill me!" Christophe gathered himself up and said, "Edgar insured I couldn't ask a human to kill me, but he didn't say anything about vampire."

She let go and turned to Eric, "What do we do?"

"I don't know, really." Eric crossed his arms and glared at Christophe, then he pulled the silver from the man's arms. "I suppose we don't need to make a suicidal vampire suffer quite so much."

"Eric," Carly sounded tentative, "I don't understand any of this."

"A vampire must do as his maker commands, until he's released."

"Edgar never releases any of us..." Christophe spoke slowly.

"How many?" Eric asked.

"At least fifty..." Christophe trailed off and then back, "at least."

"He's only ever reported five progeny."

"Edgar likes to play with us." Christophe looked at Carly, and she fell into his mind, where she saw scenes of unbearable horror, dead and dying bodies, dismembered, regrowing, bursting into flames, impaled with iron and silver. Humans drank their blood and beat them, raped them, tortured them. The horror grew too much, and Carly couldn't breathe.

"My sweet, please, come to, wake up!" Eric was on the floor with her, begging, trying desperately to revive her.

She shook, whimpered, wept, "Call the Magister, Eric."

"No!" Christophe yelled. "I can't tell him anything about Edgar."

"Carly, what's going on?" Eric pleaded with her to explain.

Even though she trembled, Carly said, quietly, "Let me show you." She grasped Eric's hand, and he was sucked into the scene she saw within Christophe's memories. Her mind dragged Eric into a pit of despair, of hell, he'd never experienced, even in the worst battle, even in his most degraded, most lustful state. He began retching up blood and screamed, "Make it stop, Carly!"

She let go of Eric and said, "I can make the Magister see, Eric." Carly's sense of self-preservation disappeared, even though she knew that revealing herself to the Magister could endanger her. She had to let Christophe go free, had to end the suffering of this exploited herd of vampires whose blood and suffering enriched their gluttonous master.

"No, Carly, he'll take you, he'll take you from me." Eric wrapped himself around her.

"But I have to make it stop, Eric. I wouldn't be able to live with myself."

"I can kill him, Carly. He won't suffer anymore." Eric shook his head frantically.

"And the others? How can we help the others? And those he'll make to replace them?" Carly tried to reason with Eric, but she knew that human reason wouldn't work. "I am yours, Eric Northman. How could the Magister take me from you?"

"You're right. He couldn't take you from me." Eric kissed her, but his tone suggested to Carly that he didn't really believe what she was saying, but knew that she was right. "Let's call him."

They mounted the staircase and walked toward the door. As they opened crossed the threshold, Carly heard Christophe say, quietly, "Thank you, Carly. I knew you'd help me when I first smelled you. You smelled like death."


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

A/N I own nothing having to do with True Blood or SVM.

"Out!" Eric barked at Pam and the two other vampires, who were lounging around Eric's office.

Alan and Esther jumped up, disoriented, and moved toward the door in unison, blocking one another.

"Pamela!" Eric yelled again, "Move!"

Pam rotated the chair slowly, stood up carefully, and said, "Fine, where's the fire, Eric?"

Eric rushed to her side, grabbed her by the neck, and said, "Why are you so undisciplined, Pam?" He lifted her over the desk and placed her down on the other side. "Out, before I regret making you."

Rushing out as quickly as she could on her heels without breaking them, Pam went through the door cursing under her breath. She passed Carly who was waiting for the room to clear and said, "He's all yours, sweet thing."

As Carly entered, she knew that Eric was strategizing, because he was moving so slowly when he could access super-human speed with no effort. He pulled a huge Rolodex out of a desk drawer and thumbed through it. When he landed on the right card, he picked up the phone receiver and then put it back down.

"There has to be some other way than to have you near him." Eric shook his head. "No, Carly, I can't risk losing you."

Carly waited for a moment while she thought, although she didn't feel as if she was thinking as herself. She felt as if she were spinning, caught on an out of control carnival ride, and then everything began to slow. Two or three days ago, she couldn't even remember, Carly nearly dissolved into hysterics after confirming that she was something—a fairy or a valkyrie—inhuman. At this moment, as she sat on Eric's couch, she was calm, contemplating how she was going to communicate the hell Christophe and the others—including Esther—had suffered to the only vampire who seemed empowered to stop Edgar.

"Eric, can I ask Esther a couple of questions before we call the Magister?"

"Of course." Eric rushed to the door, leaned out, and called "Esther. Carly wants you."

Esther approached somewhat tentatively, "Sure, what do you need?"

Eric moved out of the doorway and gestured for Esther to come inside the office and sit down.

"Esther, can I ask you a question about how Edgar treated you?"

Esther began to tremble and said, "I can't tell you anything about him. You know that, Carly."

"Esther, do you trust me?" Carly looked the vampire in the eye and tried to decode the frantic buzzing in her mind.

"Yes." Esther swiped a bloody tear from her eye.

Carly took Esther's face in her hands, just as she had, instinctively, Christophe's. Her field of vision narrowed into a single point, and Carly felt as if she were on a train, hurtling forward at top speed, into a scene much like that she saw in Christophe's mind. Yet, in this scene, Christophe was absent, and Esther was chained to a wall, alive, breathing, blood coursing through her veins. Edgar stood before her, his fangs extended, and he glared at her venomously and spat blood as he spoke.

"Esther, tonight, little match girl, you die. Did you foresee that?"

"Please..." Esther begged, shivering, naked. "Please just let me live."

Edgar laughed, "Perhaps I shall, but not the way you are." Grabbing a hank of Esther's hair and pulling her head until the skin strained in her throat, Edgar growled, "You will rise with me tomorrow a vampire, and you will do as I say. From that moment forward, Esther, you will keep all I do to you, with you, and around you to yourself. You will never speak of me, for I will be your maker, and a vampire must do all her maker commands. Do you understand, Esther?"

Unable to speak or nod because of the position of her head, Esther grunted pathetically.

As quickly as Carly found herself inside the memory, she was out, back on the couch with Esther's face in her hands.

"What, Carly? Why are you smiling?" Eric asked, sounding almost alarmed at the sudden and radical change in her expression.

"Esther," Carly stared at her, "If Edgar ever commanded you not to speak of him after you were made a vampire, cough."

Esther remained still and silent.

Carly asked the same question in a different way, "If the only time Edgar ever commanded you to be silent about him was when you were still human, cough."

Esther took in a breath and then coughed loudly.

"Eric," Carly giggled, "that's why I'm smiling."

"I still don't understand, Carly," Eric struggled to make sense of the information.

"I don't get it either," Esther concurred.

"It's simple, I think." Carly smiled and grasped hold of Esther's hand tightly. "His command to you, when you were a human, has no power over you, as I see it."

"But he's..." Esther strained to speak, "Carly." Esther shook her head.

"Were you a vampire when he commanded you to be silent?"

She shook her head again to signify no.

"So, he never gave you a command," Carly paused slightly, "once he was your maker."

"But," Esther began to object.

"But, nothing, Esther." Carly took a deep breath, grasped Esther's other wrist. "His command to you while living holds no power, even if you were glamoured. Death intervened—all he said to you while you lived life as a human is null, void, meaningless. Death severed you from your human life. All that stops you from speaking his name, from telling the Magister all he has done to you, to Christophe, to Alan, is the memory of his command."

"E-," Esther winced.

Carly grasped Esther's cheeks again and spoke in a voice that chilled the room, a voice deep, resonant, and terrifying. "Esther, I am a valkyrie. I am a daughter of Friagabi, who pulled the dead from battle and consumed their fears." As she spoke, wind swept through the room, pulling papers from bulletin boards, turning Eric in his chair. "I command you to forget your death, to forget your pain, to forget his command to you."

"Edgar..." Esther smiled. "Edgar's a bastard. He's terrorized us all—sold people our blood, our bodies, forced us to debase ourselves. He stole Christophe's art, submitted it in a show in New York City. He's made vampires just so he could drain them and sell their blood."

"Good, Esther." Carly embraced her. "Now, you need to tell your story, and Christophe's, to the Magister, so that Edgar can be punished appropriately."

"Thank you, Carly." Esther had begun weeping as she spoke. "You've freed me. I can finally live—finally be free."

"Only once you're released from him entirely," Eric reminded the two women. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to make a call."

The two of the walked out of the office together and encountered Pam, who was standing dumbstruck outside the door.

"What the fucking hell was all that?"

Carly smiled and laughed lightly. "I think it was me, Pam."

"She freed me from Edgar's command—I can talk about him now, talk about all the horrible things he's done to us all."

"By doing what? Did you tear down a wall or something?"

"Pam," Carly asked, "what did you hear from the office?"

"A tornado, a hurricane, thunder, cannon-fire."

"All that?"

"No, goddamn it. That's what it sounded like." Pam cocked her head to one side and said, "Didn't you hear any of it?"

"No," Carly laughed again. "But I think I spoke a little differently than I'm used to."

Eric came out of his office. "He's coming. He was in New Orleans, believe it or not."

"Why?" Carly was frightened that the Magister might already have sided with the queen and Edgar and that all she'd done, all she'd summoned, would be for nothing.

"Some New Orleans vampire has been sending baby vampires out from the nest prematurely." Eric grinned, enjoying their shared knowledge, "One turned up in Miami, and the Caribbean King figured out where the girl was from, and lodged a complaint against our Sophie-Ann, for not keeping track of her vampires properly. According to the Magister, she's claiming that Katrina destroyed her records, so she is having trouble keeping track of everyone."

"When will he be here? Can he fly like you can?" Carly wondered how many vampires could fly.

"No," Eric stood proudly, "but he has a plane. He'll be here within the hour." Eric held his hand out to Carly. "Pam," he raised his chin to his progeny, "take Esther and Alan into the basement so that they can talk with Christophe. Don't let him out of his chains, though."

Eric started to pull Carly into his office. "Lock yourselves in until I give you our signal."

"Fine. But I'm still waiting for an explanation." Pam stood with her arms crossed before her.

"Don't worry, child. That's what I'm hoping to get myself, after I eat a little." Eric smirked and closed the door behind them, locking it. "Now, my little valkyrie."

Carly continued to smile, "I don't know how that happened."

"I don't care how it happened, I just want you." Eric lifted her up, held her legs beneath his hands, and then sat down on the couch. "I'm sorry we don't have much time, but we need to feed on each other."

They kissed hungrily, and Eric's fangs popped out. Carly responded by skewering her lip against the point so that blood streamed out. Eric bit himself, and their two tongues, each covered in blood, wrestled and fought, until both wounds were healed. The taste as their blood mixed together only inflamed them both more.

"Eric, your knife." Carly kissed his neck and bit him gently, and then harder, until Eric started moaning and bit into her neck and sucked her blood. Harder, until it broke the skin, Carly bit down and sucked his blood as well. Fire and lightening streamed through the circuit they created, and Carly ached for him, longed to be with him always, until suddenly she gasped.

"Carly," Eric stammered. "We have to stop, Carly."

Their mouths clasped against each other again, and Carly pulled at his hair. Fully dressed the two of them embraced and kissed and bit each other gently, until a pounding drew them back into the outside world.

Eric shifted position, put Carly down on the couch, and went for the door. As Carly pulled herself together, she realized that the front of her blouse was covered in blood, and her pants were soaked, if not with blood than something else that she never thought would be near her.

From outside the office door, she heard, "Mr. Northman, a pleasure, as always, although we seem to find ourselves in unique circumstances." The voice from the corridor was warm, commanding, clipped in the same way as a skilled politician's might be.

"Yes, Magister." Eric replied. "I certainly hope that they shall be unique."

"The queen tells me you've taken a human companion."

"Yes, Magister."

"I didn't take you as the sentimental kind, Mr. Northman. You've always been one of the most rational of our species that I've encountered."

"It's not sentiment, Magister."

"If you start going on about love, Mr. Northman, you will have destroyed my faith in vampires. I might as well meet the sun at dawn."

"No, sir. She is smart, and useful, tastes delicious, and will become a fine vampire when I tire of her humanity."

"Do I get the pleasure of meeting her, Mr. Northman?"

"To what purpose, Magister?"

"Simply to satisfy my curiosity, Mr. Northman. I've always found your Pamela intriguing, although tiresome, so I would like to see what has caught your eye in this one, since I don't know what could have brought you to transform Pam."

Carly heard silence.

"I just fed upon her, so she might be weak."

"Northman, you know that my purpose is to enforce our laws. You should have no fear of me. If the issue of the monarchy were up to me, you would be king, you know that? I actually respect you. I simply tolerate your whore queen. Please don't think of the two of us as having the same motives."

Carly waited for Eric to open the door. Once it cracked, she moved forward into the growing gap and waited to be presented.

Instead of the grand personage she expected to possess the commanding voice, a small, slightly weaselly face, Iberian or Slavic, perhaps, met hers.

"May I, Mr. Northman?" The less than majestic Magister extended his hand toward Carly as he spoke to Eric.

"You may greet mine as you'd like, Magister. She is mine, however, and bonded to me."

"Of course, Eric Northman." The Magister clasped her hand gently, brought it to his dry, cold lips, and brushed them with a superficial kiss. "Ravishing beauty, Northman. And if she's as bright as you say, quite a catch." The Magister dropped her hand and then said, "Where are these vampires you wish for me to examine?"

"In the basement, Magister."

"Have they been tortured tonight?"

"No, sir." Eric cleared his throat slightly and gestured toward Carly. "Magister, may she witness your interrogation?"

"Do they speak willingly?"

"Yes, sir."

"If it will be bloodless, I see no reason why. I assume you will glamour anything unseemly from her."

"Of course, sir."

The Magister clapped his hands together and said, "Let us begin, then, Northman."

The three of them moved to the basement door, and Eric knocked and kicked at it a number of times, until Pam opened the door.

As they descended the steps, Pam whispered to Eric, "Do you want her to see this, Eric?"

"Everything will be all right, Pam."

The Magister moved toward Christophe first. "Northman, I need slightly more light."

Eric hit a switch that illuminated the center of the basement.

"Incredible." The Magister circled Christophe. "I almost didn't believe you when you said you had Christophe the artist in your custody. I thought it almost certain that you intended some joke. But here you are," the Magister laughed. "Northman, why didn't you just kill him as everyone thought you did in Amsterdam."

"I considered it, Magister. But you will want to hear his story, along with Esther's and Alan's."

The Magister turned to look at Alan. "I don't know you."

"I'm undocumented, sir." Alan looked at the floor as he said it.

"Who is your maker?" The Magister demanded in a voice as commanding as any Carly had ever heard. "Tell me, Alan. Who is your maker?"

"My maker's name is E-" Alan began to whimper.

"The inability to name one's maker seems epidemic these days," the Magister said cynically. "I just dispatched another undocumented vampire with the same disorder and no one knew her origin. Since she'd also been selling her blood—blasphemy-and prostituting herself to humans—repulsive-I put her down. Just out of pity, really."

"May I speak," Esther asked.

"Yes, of course." The Magister practically beamed. "It will be even better if you have something worthwhile to say. Do you know this vampire?"

"Yes, the two of us share a maker—with Christophe."

"Well, well, well..."

"Edgar Martin is our maker. And I would hazard that he also made the vampire you just destroyed, Magister, since those two things are among the acts he commands his progeny to commit so that we might enrich him."

"And if you were commanded to do such things, why did he not also command your silence?" The Magister pushed at her chest with the tip of a walking stick.

Eric interrupted. "Magister, if I may. I told you my human was bright. She's assisted me in interrogating these vampires. It was she who determined that Edgar had commanded Esther to be silent, but did so before he killed her."

"Is that true, human?"

Carly nearly beamed with pride, "Yes, sir."

The Magister neared her, and Eric stepped between them, instinctively.

"Down, Northman. I just want to ask her how."

Carly tried to figure out how she could describe what she'd done without actually admitting that she'd most likely glamoured a vampire into forgetting her maker's command, as well as her own death.

"I've studied meditation, sir, so I helped to guide her to the point where Edgar demanded her silence, and then we figured out that she could overcome the order, since he gave it when she was still human."

"Interesting." The Magister smiled. "Perhaps we need to turn more Tibetans. The Dalai Lama seems quite the pleasant man. Perhaps he would be interested in immortality."

"Perhaps, Magister." Eric concurred.

The Magister asked Esther to describe her own experiences and to describe what she'd witnessed of Christophe's and Alan's. Now that she could speak, Esther kept going, naming names of prominent humans—celebrities and politicians—who attended Edgar's events (long before the Great Revelation) or who regularly received blood from his undocumented underlings. According to Esther, Edgar was most likely responsible for the bulk of 'V' trafficking in New York and Los Angeles, since he'd installed at least one older progeny in both cities. She also shared perhaps the most shocking detail of all, at least to Carly's ears.

"For about twenty years now, he's had Christophe produce forgeries of major paintings that have been stolen."

"Really?"

The Magister turned to Christophe to seek some kind of affirmation. "What can you tell me about Edgar?"

"He's my maker, Magister. I'm one of many progeny, and he likes to play with us." Christophe spoke slowly and quietly.

"Did he ask you to paint forgeries?"

"Yes."

"Christophe," the Magister came right up to him, and they stood eye to eye, "can you say 'he asked me to paint forgeries'?"

"No."

"Can you answer my questions if I supply the information in them?"

"Yes, Magister."

"Did he ask you to find major buyers for vampire blood in the Shreveport area?"

"Yes."

"Did he demand that you give him your art so that he could present it as his own?"

"Yes."

"Well, then, Northman, I'm satisfied." The Magister clapped loudly. "I will go to ground here in Shreveport, and then we will apprehend Edgar Martin tomorrow and dispense his punishment."

"And his co-conspirators?" Carly couldn't believe she'd spoken up.

"Sweet human," the Magister said with more than a little condescension. "Other than taking a cut of the money, which she'd do no matter what, the queen is guilty of no more, at this point, than poor taste in companions and interior design."

The Magister walked up to Eric and summoned him closer with a twitch of his finger. "If, Northman, she seems to do differently, I am to be notified immediately."

"Yes, Magister, although wouldn't that be treason?"

"As I said, I like you better. I always have."

"Thank you, Magister."


	27. Chapter 27

A/N I struggled with this chapter because I'm intrigued by one of the conventions of fanfiction, but didn't want to fall into it entirely, just play a little around the edges. The ending of this chapter also begins the divergence from the TB structure, which I guess is singaled by "AU." As usual, I own nothing having to do with True Blood or SVM.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Eric gave the Magister the keys and the security code to a home that he maintained for out of town vampire guests, and the Magister, along with his guards and the captive vampires, departed for the night. The sheriff made arrangements for them all to fly to New Orleans the next night, the Magister on his plane and Eric via the plane he shared with a few other wealthy vampires. Carly hadn't realized that "subscription airplanes" were so common; apparently the company Eric did business with also worked with wealthy humans who bought a "share" of a plane and could fly when needed on a private jet.

As Eric worked on the arrangements, Carly sat on the sofa, cross-legged-the way she'd been taught years ago when she learned to meditate. Within her a still point lay suspended, one moment in time, the moment when the winds swept Eric's office, and she became something else, something beyond her humanity. Carly tried desperately to access the moment, to reconstruct what had happened, but it was shut away, silent to her.

"We have to get you home, Carly," Eric said.

"Why?"

"So you can sleep, Carly." Eric moved next to her. "Are you all right?"

"How could I be all right, Eric?" Carly remained perfectly still, but confusion flooded her voice.

"Tonight was difficult for you, especially as you spoke to Esther."

"The problem, Eric, is that it wasn't difficult." Carly still hadn't moved. "All I had to do was want her to forget." Carly shook her head slowly until she finally began to cry. "I thought about what I am supposed to be and then it just happened—she forgot."

"Don't cry. Please." Eric wrapped his arms around her and tried to comfort her, but Carly sat rigidly.

She wiped her eyes and breathed deeply. "A week ago I was entirely alone, ready to grow old and die alone, dreaming about people dying all the time, but I knew who and what I was."

Eric stroked her hair and told her, "You're still the same."

"I'm not sure. I have you now, and I don't think I could let you go, but I don't know if I can keep going this way." Carly started to tremble lightly, "I'm just getting so tired. I feel empty, except when we..."

She reached out to him and caressed the spot where she'd bit him. "I'm frightened, Eric. I bit you, like a vampire."

"No,Carly." Eric kissed her hand. "Sharing my blood won't make you a vampire; it will just make us closer, bind us together, which is why it...feels so..."

Carly laughed quietly, "Titanic?"

"That's close." Eric kissed her and said, "Our bond has become unlike anything I've experienced, even with my maker, or Pam."

"Are you scared?"

"No." Eric kissed her earlobe and whispered to her, "It excites me."

Finally, Carly relaxed into him. "I guess not much is new after a thousand years, huh?"

"No. But you are new," Eric's hands spread across her back as he held her, "and old- familiar." Each finger dug into her a millimeter. "Perhaps you're the valkyrie who was meant to find me."

"Please don't say that, Eric." Carly pushed her forehead into his chest. "Don't ever leave me, please. Please, don't break my heart."

Eric pushed her away so that he could hold her chin in the heel of his hand. "Carly, I may, someday, stop your heart, but I will never break it."

"You shouldn't make promises like that. But thank you the same." She paused and looked as deeply into his old eyes as she could, "I love you."

"I know."

She held tightly to him and asked, "I need to call my boss."

"Why?"

"I can't come in until the afternoon—I need more rest. I can't work on just an two hours of sleep again."

The first day she'd been at the ME's office, Ellen had given Carly her home phone number and told her she could call any time—day or night—if she needed anything. Perhaps it was just because Cassandra told her that Carly was vulnerable, or new, or tired—Carly didn't really know. But she decided that tonight, of any night, should be the one where she should call.

Ellen picked up the phone clumsily after the third ring, "Yeah, hello."

"I'm sorry to wake you, Ellen, but this is Carly."

"Hi, Carly, I'd wondered if you were going to call me tonight." Ellen sounded sleepy, but not as if she'd been entirely asleep.

"Why?"

"Well, the chief of police called me a few hours ago to tell me that a suspect had called the Monroe police and then confessed to the entire chain of hotel murders, including that of Samantha Chase. I'm guessing the two of you had something to do with it."

"Yeah, a little bit."

Ellen laughed, "Well, if you had just a little to with it, I'd hate to see when you put some elbow grease in it." Carly heard the yawn on the other side, "But what can I do for you?"

"I was hoping I could sleep in. I didn't actually get a lot of rest today after I left this past afternoon." Carly left out all the details of driving to Monroe.

"Carly, take the day off. I think you've done plenty."

"Thanks, Ellen, but I don't want anyone at the office thinking that I'm lazy, or some privileged academic, or some flaky artist." Everything she was saying was true, even though part of her wished she could be all of those things and never go back to the ME's office at all.

"No one will say that, don't worry. Just stay home tomorrow and then enjoy your weekend and get lots of rest. If anybody gets nosy, I'll just tell them that you had some things to deal with about your move."

"Thanks, Ellen, I appreciate it. I feel like I could sleep for a week." As if punctuation her claim, Carly yawned deeply. "Sorry, bye."

Eric locked up the bar, and the two of them drove back toward the guesthouse at top speed. When they were almost there, Eric's cellphone rang. He fished it out of his pocket and answered it.

Carly heard a shrill woman's voice on the other side of the line, "Northman?"

Eric responded, "Yes, my queen, what can I do for you?" He handed Carly the phone and pointed at the speaker key so that he could keep both hands on the wheel and Carly could hear the whole conversation.

"The Magister was here, and he told me that he was going to attend to issues that had arisen in Shreveport. What's going on, and why didn't you notify me first if the Magister needed to be called? I am your Queen, Eric Northman, and you are my sheriff, not the Magister's." The queen's description emphasized her dominion over Eric.

"Yes, of course, your majesty."

"Why did you call him?"

"My issue had nothing to do with any Louisiana vampire, so protocol required me to contact the Magister directly, just as in a case of murder. As you know, your majesty, there are some situations where monarchs are not involved in the chain of discipline."

"Northman, the Magister just called me and asked me to summon Edgar Martin tomorrow night. I can't help but think that you had something to do with that."

Eric smirked at Carly as they pulled into the guest house driveway. "Your majesty, my issue concerned a vampire who escaped justice 300 years ago. It was in no way related to Esther Night or the Industrial Lofts in Shreveport." Eric brought his arm across the seat to squeeze Carly's thigh. "Now, your majesty, I have personal matters to attend to, so I would like to end our call."

"Damn it, Northman, I want to know, will you be here tomorrow with the Magister?"

"If I am asked, your majesty." He winked at Carly. "If I am, I will be a witness, one of the Magister's guests, so I will be silent." Eric chuckled softly and said, "And I plan to eat at home, your majesty. I'd like to avoid any awkward misunderstandings, such as the one we almost had earlier this week."

"What are you talking about, Northman?" The queen's voice seemed strained and suspicious.

"Well, your majesty, when I had a moment to consider Andre's invitation that I feed on your favorite, I realized that she bore a remarkable resemblance to a favorite I encountered in another court, long ago. As I reflected on that young woman, in Amsterdam so many years ago, I recalled what happened to the vampire who fed upon her."

"Yes, Northman?"

"He was condemned—and I was asked to kill him."

"So?"

"Well, your majesty, I see now that a vampire ought to keep his fangs to himself—and out of a monarch's bonded favorite."

"Who told you that Hadley was my bonded favorite?"

"Oh, your majesty, no one told me any such thing." Eric reached up to stroke Carly's hair. "But the attraction I felt toward your Hadley is much like that I feel toward my Carly; since I saw fit to bond Carly to me, why wouldn't you have bonded Hadley to you?"

Only a high-pitched whine emanated from the cell phone.

"As I said, your majesty, I have personal issues to attend to, and dawn approaches, so I will say goodnight."

"Northman."

"Yes, your majesty."

More silence from the line.

"Andre misunderstood me."

"Of course he did, your majesty. You would never try to dispose of your faithful servant, your capable, well-connected, well-respected, thousand year old sheriff, a former viking warrior who guarded the Byzantine treasury, in such an ignominious way."

"Of course." The queen's voice radiated defeat through the phone.

"Again, good night, your majesty. I will see you tomorrow."

Eric disconnected the call and began to laugh. "So we shall have no more nonsense from her."

Once inside, Carly used the bathroom and then opened a bottle of wine and a bottle of club soda and took them both downstairs, along with a clean set of sheet for the bed.

"What are those for?" Eric asked.

"I wanted to change the sheets. They're a mess."

"So you want to put a new set on for us to ruin?" Eric pulled her down on the bed and whispered, "I still haven't had you tonight."

"No, I guess you haven't." Carly examined the shape of Eric's face and its texture, especially the lids of his eyes. "Will you always want me this much?"

Eric rolled over on top of her and leaned in to kiss her, starting at her forehead, and then kissing down to her lips. After kissing her for a few moments, Eric said, "You're sad?"

"No, I don't think so." Carly kissed his lips again, forcefully, thinking of how much she wanted to merge with him, for him to consume her, how much she wanted to lose herself in him. "I think I'm gone. I think that what I was is gone. I don't know what's replaced it."

"Carly, I don't want to compel you in any way."

"You're not." Carly ran her hands beneath Eric's shirt and pulled it over his head, exposing his broadly muscled chest. She kissed his neck, then his chin. "Is dawn coming?"

"Soon." They pulled their clothes off and lay side by side, naked. "You brought wine down, do you want to drink some?"

Carly poured a glass of wine, and sipped at it and started to giggle. "This seems pretty debauched."

As Carly brought the glass to her lips, Eric swung her leg over his lap and positioned himself so that she felt him pushing against her. "Carly, I can show you real debauchery, if you like." Eric rocked her against him, dipping into her as she finished the glass.

He had her transfixed, and between the alcohol, her exhaustion, and the sensations of him pushing against her, she felt mesmerized. Carly exhaled and said, "Is this what glamouring would have felt like?"

"No," Eric said sternly. "This," he pressed her down by her shoulders until he filled her, "is how it would have felt."

"Liar." Carly whimpered. "It couldn't have felt this good."

The two stayed like that, rocking back and forth slowly until she relaxed entirely against him. ""You're my world, now, Eric."

"Good." He increased the pace, and finally pushed her down onto her back, pressing her legs up against her shoulders, "You are mine, Carly, and you will give me everything you are, every bit of it, every bit of your life will be mine."

"Yes, Eric. Every bit of it will be yours."

As he pumped into her, her neck arched backward, and she felt the boundaries between them disappearing, as if her skin were expanding, and somehow permeable, as if it were encasing him, drawing him into a warm, windy vortex where they existed together, within but still apart from the wine cellar. "What is happening, Carly?" Eric began to shake uncontrollably and to gasp, "Carly...love...I love you. What are you doing to me?"

"Everything I am is for you, Eric. Everything." Carly was more than herself, she was a force that flew through space, she hovered on a crest of energy that vibrated at a frequency she felt would set them both alight.

Eric roared and the winds ceased as quickly as they'd started. And then he collapsed on top of her, and the gap between their world and the other that had opened around and through Carly deflated. Again they were separate bodies, and they were exhausted.

Just as if they'd been lifted to Oz, Carly disoriented, off-balance, and transformed. "Eric?"

"I'm here," he said as he drew them closer together. "You're amazing."

"What happened?"

"I don't fucking care." Eric pulled her tight against him. "I don't care."

"Please let go," Carly begged. "I need to get up."

"No, you're going to stay with me."

"Eric, I've got to go to the bathroom, and I'm thirsty." Carly felt dried out, exposed, and needed to reconnect with her human body.

"Fine, my sweet valkyrie." Eric chuckled. "Drink your water, and let us sleep."

She drank the water she'd brought downstairs, used the bathroom again, and then crawled into bed next to Eric, as close as she could get to him. "I wish there were someone I could talk to about what happened to us...maybe tomorrow I'll call Arianna."

"Please, do not worry. It was bliss to be so close to you." Eric laughed, "Perhaps if you can awaken my heart, you can awaken other parts of me. I'd like to settle a debt to my father.

"What, Eric?"

He didn't answer, so Carly closed her eyes and slept.

Within her dream, winds swept the landscape, snow-covered and forlorn, while a fire blazed in the distance. She felt herself fly toward the fire and was caught upon the wisps of smoke, which swirled hot and dry with sparks. Carly looked into the fire and saw rushes spark and be consumed, watched as the cold pitch on spruce trees melted and finally ignited like a pool of hellfire. Before the conflagration, standing in deep snow, a warrior stood with a dagger, stabbed his hand, and spilled its blood into the snow. He wrapped the blood up into a snowball, whispered to it, and cast it into the fire.

Steam rose and a voice climbed to the sky with it—a scream of anger and blood bound within it: it wailed "Revenge" and "Descendants."

Fixed upon the scream, Carly's consciousness followed it into silence and melted into the dry winter sky. Following the wind, her dream-self circled and sank to the ground, then crept along it like a fog. Her mind followed a small stream until it reached a waterfall that crashed over huge rocks that obscured a cave.

Within the cave, a small group of men and women sat around a roaring fire, over which a bronze cauldron hung. The cave walls shimmered like glass—Carly assumed it was dampness, but as her mind crept toward this fire, to sit among the people, she saw the walls were like mirrors, where scenes played out, shifting back and forth.

"Time has broken, sister," One man among the group stood on the alert and spoke.

"Yes," a woman responded and moved toward the cauldron, "I feel it as well."

"Someone seeks you, sister." Another of the women spoke to her who was cauldron-bound.

She stirred the cauldron with a paddle, "Yes, I feel her. One of my children's children seeks me."

"Why? And how does she find you?" The first man, the one who announced time's break, asked.

"Her father was taken from her, so she seeks guidance from us." She stirred the cauldron and then pulled the paddle out trailing something viscous and dark. "Her powers are substantial, for she is one of us, but also man, and light."

"But how could anyone she break time itself, sister?"

"She smells of something else—something that wants us as much as we want it. But I can't name it." The woman stirred again, "Perhaps she will speak to us."

Carly asked every question she had to these mysterious people, at the top of her voice, but heard no sound. Her consciousness danced around their feet, and climbed upon their garments, encircled their heads, but she heard nothing, and they remained silent.

In an acute frustration only possible within dreams, she threw herself within the fire and raged, and her voice cried out on a hot wind that extinguished the flames. The only thing left within the cave was the sound of her voice, carried on the vortex, "What am I?"

"We are life and death," her ancestor spoke.

"What is our name?"

"Our tribe has many names in many places." Another of the elders spoke.

"Why can I see the lives the dead lived, why can I see their memories?"

Her great-mother spoke again, "Because we are life and death. We breathe in life and exhale death. We succor ourselves on death and excrete life."

"Am I a fairy?"

Their laughter shook the cave and disturbed the wind. They incanted together: "We have many names, but we are not the creatures of the light, who please when looked upon and then burn their lovers with their light."

The mother said, "We are wind, and heat, and death, and life. We eat pain and shit food for men. We consume sorrow and feed men art."

"I love a vampire." Carly's voice whispered. "What will I do to him."

The laughter rose again, and the great mother said, "Feed him well and make him very happy, I wager."

"Will he kill me?"

"No. Only iron, directed by the treachery of your own kind can kill you."

"So he can't drain me of all my blood and change me into a vampire?"

The laughter was so raucous that the winds that raised spun her around the cave collapsed and her consciousness fell again to the ground, scrambling to unify itself. "He cannot change you or any like you. You are death and you are life. You are beyond vampire. You are beyond food. He will not feed from you without feeding you. Your blood will soothe him, give him power, wisdom, control. His blood will give you fire." She stopped and stirred the cauldron, "Yes, I see now. His blood brings you here."

The great mother also said, "You will make him very happy, child." The great mother stooped, and picked Carly's consciousness up in her hand, examined it and prophesied, "You may tell others of your kind that they may thrive among the right vampires, those who choose to live immortal lives well, those who do not kill to live. Those who are not worthy, those who live to kill, will die if they feed from you or others of your kind, for you are life and death. Those who seek your blood, but not your life, will die. And also, at all costs, avoid the squabbles among the creatures of light." Carly felt her mind warm, and expand, and felt a faint breath that dissipated her into a million points that swept through the waterfall and returned to sleep.

When Carly finally awoke, after Eric shook her gently, she felt dehydrated and extraordinarily hungry, but she felt whole, happy, and secure.

"Are you rested, Carly?" Eric asked gently.

"I just fell asleep."

"No, sweet Carly." Eric pointed at the alarm clock. "It's after nightfall. You slept all day."

"I guess I am. But I need to eat and drink something," Carly stretched, and added, "but then I'll be ready to feed you."

"Don't worry. There's no hurry. We have time before we have to get to New Orleans." Eric brought her body close, "After you eat, I'd like another chance to fill you up."

"What!" Carly startled. "What are you talking about?"

"I dreamed of it, Carly."

"Dreamed of what?" Carly was shaken.

"When my family died, I made a vow."

"Revenge?"

"Yes, I vowed to have revenge on whatever it was who ordered the wolves to kill my family, but I made another vow."

Carly recalled her dream, and recognized it might not have been hers. "Descendants?"

Eric rolled the two of them into a ball, so that she faced the ceiling and he could kiss her neck and whisper, "Were you peeking into my dreams, Carly Michael?"

"I didn't try, Eric, I promise."

"Oh, Carly," he positioned her so that he could rub against her again until she moaned at their intimate proximity, "you don't understand." He sank into her a half or inch or more, until she loosened and let him in entirely. "I don't think it's possible, but I'd love to spend all sorts of effort trying."

"No, you're a vampire."

Eric kissed her neck and said, "Carly, if anyone asked me two weeks ago if you were possible, I would have laughed in their face. But I want you to know that I have marvelous dreams about you and what I'm going to do to you once I convince you to live your life entirely with me."As he moved back and forth within her, he asked, "What did else did you dream about?"

"I visited Friagabi and her family," Carly spoke slowly, intoning syllables of words when she could.

"Oh, and what did grandma tell you?" Eric held her so tightly she thought that she would break.

"She said," Carly groaned, "she said I'd make you very happy."

"You have, Carly. What else did she tell you?"

"That you would never take all my blood without giving me your own."

"So true, because it's like fire. Tell me what else they told you before we feed on each other."

"They told me you'd always do that. That you can never turn me, that I'd live always unless another creature like me killed me with iron," Carly wanted to be silent and enjoy him.

"What else, dear one?"

"That an unworthy vampire who fed from me would die." Carly whimpered with pleasure."Please stop talking," she begged.

"Oh, no, Carly, I want to hear that grandma likes me." He quickened again and said, "Tell me everything."

"That light fairies are dangerous." Begging, she said, "Please stop talking and bite me. Please let me bite you."

Eric picked her up and tossed her to his side. His fangs popped out, but then he reached over to the wine glass she'd brought downstairs, broke it, and slashed at his chest with the largest shard of glass.

They fed from each other, blood coursing through their mouths and moving straight through their skin into their bloodstreams. Carly's heart pumped the blood through both of them, and they dissolved into one pulsing being, surrounded again with a vortex of wind, with heat radiating from her. Suddenly, Eric reared up his head, his fangs retreated, and Carly felt his heart beating, pounding, and he gasped for breath. The two of them were sealed together, nearly one being, until a spasm of electricity, or life, moved through both of them. He screamed in Swedish, and she cried out as well. The wind settled around them, and when everything calmed, Carly looked over to see how much of the room was disturbed. The wine glass,now unbroken, stood next to them.

Eric kissed her deeply, and held her tongue over his so that she could feel the last beats of his heart as they faded. He chuckled, "See, my sweet valkyrie, you even bring dishes back to life."

"It can't be." Carly started to shake. "No, it can't be me. That's too much."

"We know one thing, though, that makes me very, very happy."

"What?"

"No one can take you from me and survive." Eric laughed heartily. "I don't even have to kill them."

"Yeah, I guess so. I just have to avoid angry relatives."

"They didn't tell you anything else?"

Carly remembered the statement about how her kind could thrive among vampires. "I think my—whatever she is—aunt Arianna can go after your buddy Jean-Jacques without worrying. They said we'd thrive among good vampires—vampires who didn't live to kill."

The two of them lay together silently for half an hour, until Carly's stomach began rumbling. As they climbed the stairs, Eric's phone rang, and he pulled it out of his pants pocket to answer it.

His voice was jubilant and light. "Magister, what a wonderful surprise."

Eric hit the speaker button so that Carly could hear the conversation. "Northman, I'm calling to coordinate our arrival at the queen's."

"That sounds prudent. Shall we meet at the New Orleans airport and convoy to her home together?" Eric gestured at Carly in a way that encouraged her to eat.

"Yes," the Magister paused. "Has she called you?"

"Yes, she called last night and accused me of going over her head." Eric sat down on Carly's couch as she heated up a microwave meal and peeled an orange.

"Well, she follows through on her threats, at least."

Eric frowned. "I don't understand what you mean, sir."

"She told me she was going to call you and ask you to escort me from her territory."

"What?" Eric's disbelief was audible. "She couldn't have you thrown out of Louisiana. And she asked me to do no such thing."

"I didn't think she did." The Magister sounded tired and frustrated. "She's a difficult woman, and her financial improprieties cause us a great deal of concern, because they draw unwanted attention from federal authorities. She hasn't been forthcoming with financial records, especially for the construction firms that she's involved in. Some of them have received money from FEMA—the US Emergency Management Agency."

"I didn't realize she'd been dealing with the federal government."

"Yes, and she is the principle investor in a small bank that is under investigation for money laundering." Carly thought she could hear the Magister shaking his head even through the phone. "Before the Great Revelation, we could have contained her, but now that she's a more public figure, a face for vampires in Louisiana, she's more difficult to deal with."

"We will just have to look out for each other, I suppose, Magister."

Carly tried to capture Eric's attention and then whispered the word, "Hadley."

Eric caught on quickly. "When I was last at her court, her second, Andre, encouraged me to feed from her favorite, Hadley. I did not, partially because I realized that was the same crime for which Christophe was punished in Amsterdam. My bonded, Carly, reminded me of that in time, so I was able to beg off gracefully. Please be aware she might try to use the same trap with you."

"Feeding from a bonded human is only a crime if it occurs without permission." The Magister spoke authoritatively about the matter. "A vampire has the right to offer his favorite to others. If she, herself, gives me permission, I will feed if I feel like it, Northman. But you were right to resist if the invitation came from Andre. If the queen offers her favorite, she'll expect you to reciprocate. If you feel squeamish about others feeding from your human, you would be best served to leave her at home. Of course, that might be considered poor manners."

Eric smiled, "No, I couldn't possibly be without her. Of course, I don't know if anyone else will be able to appreciate Carly the way that I do."

"A special vintage, Northman?" The Magister laughed. "If so, I'd love to taste her myself, but only if you offered."

"I guess the real question, sir, is what do you life for?"

"Pardon me?"

"Magister," Eric spoke slowly and seriously, "what is it that you live for? How do you use your immortality? Do you enjoy killing, or something else?"

"Eric Northman, this is a very strange question, but I think I have an answer. Perhaps some day I'll tell you how I was made, but I believe I live for justice, for knowledge." The Magister sounded wistful when he said, "I've only killed one human, and I've always regretted that error of control."

"Well, then, Magister, I believe that neither I nor Carly would have any objection if you were to feed from her if you needed to."

"Northman," the Magister laughed, "you are a very strange vampire, sometimes. It must be the Viking in you."

"Yes, sir. A thousand years will make anyone unique."

"Shall we meet at the airport at 10 pm?"

"Yes, sir. We will see you then."

When Eric hung up the phone, Carly said, "So I guess I'm the first course at the meal tonight?"

"Oh, no, sweet Carly." Eric stretched and put his hands behind his head. "I believe you're the last course."

The two sped to the Shreveport airport after showering and dressing. On the way there, they stopped at a late-night pharmacy, where Carly bought some liquid "Geritol" and liquid B-12, because she feared she would be losing a great deal of blood without immediately replenishing her system with Eric's. She felt strong, but still felt anxious at the idea that she was going to let other vampires, vampires who might wish her ill, feed on her, and then watch them die.

All went smoothly during their short flight, and their rendezvous with the Magister, and the convoy to the Queen's residence in New Orleans. Unlike their previous visit, the Queen was waiting in the foyer to the residence for the party. When she met the Magister, she bowed deeply to recognize his authority. Carly still didn't understand the finer points of the vampire hierarchy, because there seemed to be some difference between secular authority—the authority invested in the monarchs of different regions of the United States—and legal authority, which seemed to have some relationship to a more durable institution that Eric and the other vampires referred to as "The Authority." In any case, she saw that the Magister was held in great esteem by all involved in the night's tribunal, or inquiry, or whatever it was they were involved in.

As they were about to move into the queen's "solarium," the Magister groaned, and said, "Dear Sophie-Ann, are you going to make me bake under those infernal lights of yours again?"

The queen's resolve wavered slightly, "Would you like to discuss your concerns elsewhere?"

"Yes. I am a vampire. I don't want to sit around a pool and work on my tan. I don't understand how you can bear it."

"Fine," the queen's tone was strident and oppositional. "If you don't enjoy natural beauty, we can meet somewhere more to your liking. Would the library suffice?" She began to lead the way down a long corridor. She called back over her shoulder, "Andre, bring Edgar into the library." After a few more steps, she turned, and scowling, said, "I can have them bring in candles, or maybe torches, if that would make you feel more comfortable? Or maybe you'd like me to string up a nun or two to make it feel really homey for you, Magister?"

"Sarcasm is not necessary, Sophie-Ann." The Magister glared at the woman, who appeared to Carly to be in her early twenties, at the latest.

"I just want you to feel comfortable, sir." The queen's emphasis on the final syllable demonstrated her contempt for the proceedings. "I know you probably enjoyed the Inquisition very much, but those days are past."

"More the shame for all of us," the Magister scoffed.

Throughout the entire progress, Carly brought up the rear of the party. She knew, instinctively, that as the human being, she was the least important member of the group. As the moved into the library, Carly felt the approach of the two final vampires—Andre and Edgar. Their brains were screaming, whining quickly, and she felt nothing but rage from one and fear from the other. At least one of them, and she couldn't tell which since she was reluctant to turn and face them and thereby betray some understanding of what was going on in their minds, was certain that he was going to die.

Before they were close to her, Carly ran to join Eric and grasped his arm, even though it brought her into the middle of the group. Her sudden breach of protocol and her approach attracted attention from both the queen and the Magister.

"Northman," the queen said, "even though she's a pretty thing, you should probably keep her at the back."

"I disagree, Sophie-Ann," the Magister chimed in, "I find her entrancing. I hear that you too have quite an enchanting favorite as well."

The queen looked at the Magister and smiled, and then stole a quick look at Eric. "Magister, I do, but I don't know what you could have heard about her."

"Only reports of her, nothing more." The Magister smiled and said, "Perhaps once the proceedings are over we can share a taste of the two and decide which of them is sweeter."

"Perhaps," Eric responded to the provocation. "Although I don't believe the queen approves of sharing her favorite with others."

"Nonsense, Northman." The queen laughed playfully and rejected the premise by saying, "You know that Andre shared my invitation to you last time you were here."

Clearing his throat in a dramatic way, "Sophie-Ann, you know Eric couldn't in good conscience have accepted any invitation to feed on your favorite if it didn't come directly from you. He's mindful of our laws—he would never break them in such a way."

"Andre's word is like my own." The queen waved a hand and said, "No matter whatsoever. Let's get this over with. Why are we here?"

The Magister placed a chair on top of an elegant, baroque desk at the front of the room and took a seat on the improvised dais. "As the legal representative of the Authority, I accuse Edgar Martin of blasphemy and of failing in his duties as maker. I accuse him of abandoning and exploiting his progeny. On behalf of civil authorities for the human government, with whom I communicated today, I also accuse you of conspiracy to defraud in the case of twenty-six different pieces of art which you forced your progeny, Christophe, to duplicate. You then conspired with humans to sell these copies as originals to no fewer than four buyers each. What is your response, Edgar?"

Edgar Martin moved toward the center of the room, threw himself on his knees before the Magister, and began speaking, "Magister, I humbly beg that you have no jurisdiction over human crimes, and you have no evidence of any way in which I have blasphemed against the blood or violated my responsibilities as maker to my five progeny. Therefore, I humbly entreat you to leave off these proceedings and let me go."

The Magister tapped his cane on the table three times and replied, "I hoped you might make some claim about my jurisdiction." He pulled a thick document with a blue cover out of his inside suit pocket. "I have an indictment from a human grand jury here. The Attorney's General office of the United States has given me jurisdiction over this matter and all other human crimes perpetrated by vampires until such time as they are ready to incarcerate vampires."

Edgar gasped, even though he had no need to breathe. "But the blasphemy charges, sir, you have no evidence."

"On the contrary, Edgar, I have direct testimony from one of your progeny, Esther Night, who has already shared it with me. In addition, I've located twenty-three of your undocumented progeny over the last three weeks. Interestingly enough, they've been turning up everywhere."

The audience, even Eric, expressed shock at this revelation.

"I'm sure there are more, and I believe we'll be able to track them. I don't know if your first mistake was to send them out of your nest so prematurely, or if it was to begin making films that featured their degradation. In any case, your progeny have captured the Authority's attention in New York, Los Angeles, Tulsa, Miami, and a number of other cities."

Edgar prostrated himself on the ground before the Magister. "How can I defend myself, Magister?"

"I doubt you can defend yourself. My only question to you is this: whom shall you implicate? Who are the other responsible parties?"

"I'm sorry?" Edgar raised his head and looked at the Magister. Meanwhile, the queen and her second, Andre, remained as still as statues in a museum.

"Bringing others to the gallows when one is condemned is a long and venerable tradition, Edgar. With whom do you wish to die the true death?" The Magister tapped his cane again.

"May I stand, Magister?" Edgar pleaded. "I have only ever sought my own pleasure, so I will only seek my own death."

The Magister beat his cane upon the desk, "Well said, well said, Edgar." The Magister twitched his finger, and two assistants materialized from the shadows with a body bag. "Enclose him." The two assistants encased Edgar Martin in a body bag, which featured rubber channel on the front, immediately above the heart. "Stake him."

The assistants worked together, one laying Edgar Martin out flat on the floor, another aligning the stake in the guiding channel, which had rubber had a rubber back-splash that prevented fluid from oozing out from the channel. Once the stake and the channel were perfectly aligned, the assistant slammed the stake into Edgar's body, which seemed to collapse in on itself. When the two lifted the body bag, which a few moments before had contained a rigid figure, Carly could only see fluid that pooled and expanded the middle of the bag.

All three of Edgar's progeny—Esther, Alan, and Christophe—collapsed to the ground. Christophe whispered, "I'm free."

The Magister waved the assistants out of the room and said, "Bring another one out." Signalingto Christophe, the Magister said, "You've done pretty horrific things, even by vampire standards, Christophe."

"Yes, Magister, and I wish to die."

"Why?"

"Because I should be punished."

"See, this is where I disagree slightly with humans, at least in this state." The Magister contemplated the nails on his hand. "I don't think the true death is a suitable punishment for you, because I suspect you've always wanted to die, is that true?"

"Yes, ever since Edgar made me. I've never wanted to be a vampire."

"So if I sentence you to the true death, that will give you what you want?"

"Yes, Magister, it will. Please have mercy on me."

"I'll consider mercy, Christophe, but you have to tell me what else you want from this world."

Christophe knelt before the Magister, "Please, I beg you. Let me die. There are so very few things that I want. Edgar sent art to New York under his own name—I'd like people to see them and know that I did them, but other than that, I want to die. I want to be punished for the things I did—which I only did so that I could leave the world."

"The problem, dear Christophe," the Magister intoned, "is that you will never suffer at all if you die here tonight. And punishment requires suffering."

"Yes, sir, I understand."

"I have reached a judgment." The Magister stood. "I need your assistance, Northman. I will contain Christophe right now, but he will be in your custody until he can be reunited with his art. I'll have to so some research to figure out where it is."

Eric looked over at Carly and replied, "Happily, Magister, but my bonded has information about Christophe's art. May she speak?"

"Certainly, her lovely tones would be a joyous addition to our lugubrious proceedings." The Magister's twisted smile made Carly distinctly uncomfortable.

"The art dealer in possession of Christophe's work—not the forgeries—is a family friend in New York. I can make arrangements to have the art ready to be transported here as soon as possible."

The Magister looked around the room, "I've grown tired of Louisiana. Let's go to it. I'd like to have an auto de fe," the Magister looked meaningfully at Sophie-Ann, "for old time's sake, you understand? Do you think you could make arrangements for a bonfire, Carly?"

Carly knew a perfect spot on the back of her childhood farm where they could burn up almost anything and no one in the surrounding area would complain. "Yes, sir, I think I could do that."

"Lovely." The Magister snapped his fingers and pointed to Christophe. The Magister's assistants wrapped him in silver chains and covered him in a solid body bag that appeared to Carly to have a foil lining. "I believe our proceedings are at a close, and we can share refreshments, yes?"

The queen, through clenched teeth, said, "Yes, I suppose we can." She turned to Andre and said, "Get Hadley."

The Magister leapt down from the desk and repositioned the heavy chair at the front of the room. "I'm very interested in the comparison between these two damsels, Sophie-Ann."

"Why?" The queen replied cynically and with a hostile tone.

"Well," the Magister replied, "it's quite simple. You've gone through almost as many favorites as you've gone through years of existence, although you've never had one that you bonded yourself to. Mr. Northman, on the other hand, has never kept humans around at all, and I finally discover he's bonded himself to a human. Sentimentality seems to have infected you all in the wake of the Great Revelation."

Hadley walked sleepily into the room, and Carly noticed right away that she looked more worn and frightened than she had earlier in the week. When she got to the queen, she collapsed at her feet, then looked up and said, "You called for me, your majesty?"

"Yes, Hadley," the queen pet her hair the same way a woman might pet a cat. "The Magister wants to know why you're so sweet. Can you oblige him, and our other guests, with a taste?"

Hadley groaned quietly, "I'm kind of tired, your majesty."

"How about just a little taste? No more than a drop for each of them, Hadley?"

"Just a drop?" Hadley looked reluctant, and Carly could tell that she was barely functioning. Carly peeked inside her mind to make sure that she hadn't been drugged. The queen had been feeding from her often without providing any blood in return, especially since Eric had refused her. From Carly's perspective, it looked as if the queen planned to turn Hadley into a vampire, or that she'd just grown bored with her and planned to kill her.

Hadley pulled herself to a standing position and walked over to the Magister and curtsied sweetly, "Would you like a taste, Magister, sir?" She extended her wrist before him.

"Thank you, Hadley." He extended his fangs and punctured the skin on her forefinger and licked it until the wound closed. "Delicious, Sophie-Ann. I can't quite describe it, but she's definitely unlike other humans. Are you feeding her differently?"

"No, Magister, that's just the way she is." The queen turned to Eric, "Since you can see that I am offering, would you like to taste Hadley, with my full permission."

Eric nodded, "I would love to, your majesty."

Hadley walked over to Eric, looked jealously at Carly, and seated herself on his lap. Carly could barely restrain the thought, _Little tramp._

Rather than biting her exposed neck, Eric took her other hand and nipped at the forefinger on that hand. "I agree with the Magister. Quite delicious."

Eric gave Hadley a little push to send her on her way, and she lingered for a moment, until Carly stood and took her by the hand. Carly extended her own hand toward Eric, who smiled at her and said, "Of course, it's only polite to reciprocate."

As Carly walked to the Magister, Eric spoke, "Carly feels somewhat stronger, it appears, but I would appreciate it if you were restrained yourselves. Magister, may I offer you the first taste, since you are the highest ranking among us?"

Carly walked to the Magister and knelt before him, baring her neck and raising her wrist to him.

"Oh, she's so well trained, Eric. You've really done an impressive job with her." The Magister shook his head appreciatively and asked, "How long has she been yours?"

"I marked her while she was still in Sweden, while she worked for me this summer," Eric's chest expanded with pride, "but she's been bonded to me just over a week."

"Remarkable that she's so well trained, truly." The Magister looked at her wrist and her neck and consulted Eric again, "May I bite her neck, Eric? It's truly luscious."

"Of course, Magister, but please be conservative in the amount of blood you take."

"Certainly." The Magister raised Carly slightly so that her knees were at a ninety degree angle, and then bit into her neck without a great deal of force. The sensation completely disgusted her, because she really thought of him as a weasel. After two deep sucks, he began licking her wound to close it up. He leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and said, "Oh my lord, Eric, where did you find this creature!"

"An anthropology department." Eric laughed and said, "I don't think we eat enough intellectuals."

"Oh," the Magister said transfixed, "beautiful. Like magic if it became blood. You have a tremendous prize here, Northman, and I think of no vampire who deserves it more."

"Thank you." Eric nodded in acknowledgment and then said, "Carly?"

"Yes, master," Carly rose and then walked to the queen and knelt before her, and repeated the gestures that she used with the Magister, baring the other side of her neck and offering her wrist.

"Your majesty, would you like to taste my bonded human?" Eric offered politely.

"She tastes better than mine, Magister?" The queen's expression was petulant.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Sophie-Ann, but she does." The Magister's fangs were still extended and he continued to lick his lips even after he spoke.

"Fine." Sophie-Ann bit Carly's neck aggressively and deeply and the bite afflicted Carly more like a dog bite would. She winced and said, "Ow," loudly. The queen took three deep slurping drinks of blood, and Eric cut her off.

"Sophie-Ann, that's enough." Eric stood.

The queen drank one more time, and then pushed Carly away. "Clean her up yourself, Northman." Eric swept next to Carly, who felt dizzy and weak. Eric licked her wound and it closed.

Carly whispered, "I'm okay. Just one more."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, just one more." Carly stood straight, and walked to Andre, to whom she extended her wrist.

"Andre," Eric asked, "do you wish to taste my bonded human?"

"I'd love to." Andre grabbed her wrist and bit and drank Carly's blood deeply in three swallows. Then he repeated his queen's behavior and shoved Carly toward the ground. "Yours, Northman."

Eric picked Carly up, staunched the bleeding in her wrist, and asked, "Will you make it home without my blood?"

"Sure. I'll be fine."

The Magister clapped his hands together and said, "Well, Carly's blood has given me a second wind. Sophie-Ann, I say goodnight. Thank you for your cooperation." He stood before the queen and nodded, and then turned to leave with a strut in his short step.

Eric supported Carly around the waist and they both nodded and left, with Esther and Alan following behind them.

When the got to the foyer, the party heard, "Northman, wait!"

Carly closed her eyes and nuzzled into Eric and whispered, "Why can't we just get out of here?"

"It will be okay, Carly, just stay calm."

The queen came running out into the foyer. "Magister, are you feeling okay?"

"Yes, never better, Sophie-Ann?" The Magister turned and smiled at her, and then exclaimed, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

The entire party turned and saw Sophie-Ann, who moments before had been youthful, red-haired, and slender, but now had a head full of mangy gray hair that was falling out in clumps as she walked. Her body eyes and sunken and her body bloated, and she was shaking. "I don't, Northman...poison...?" And then she collapsed onto the floor and disintegrated into dried skin, chunks of bone, and hair.

Eric jumped over her and ran into look at Andre. He returned and said, "Just the same."

The Magister extended his hand to Eric. "I seldom shake hands, but yours deserves it, sir."

"Magister, I have no idea what you mean."

The Magister winked, "That's exactly why you deserve it."

Just as the Magister congratulated Eric for his "game well played," she collapsed from exhaustion and blood loss.


	28. Chapter 28

A/N Thank you all for your feedback and your reviews! I really appreciate the support. I hope that you enjoy this section. I thought it would be the last chapter, but I think I'll have to have at least two more. As usual, I own nothing having to do with True Blood or SVM.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Fragments of speech percolated through the clouds obscuring Carly from consciousness. "Call a quarantine," "concern for my human," "inventory," "audit," "calling in the troops," "isolate unknown virus," all competed for cognitive space with the constant throbbing of the name, "Carly, Carly, Carly..."

As Carly's eyes finally opened, Eric raised her to a close embrace that almost stifled her slow and struggling breath. "I thought I'd lost you."

"What?" Carly raised her hand to touch his face, which seemed far more distant away than the few inches that lay between them. "What happened?"

"You collapsed after the queen and Andre fell apart." Eric looked toward the Magister and spoke slightly more loudly, "I feared they'd given you whatever it was that killed them."

Carly struggled to remember what happened earlier in the evening. She remembered Edgar being staked; she recalled that Christophe begged for death but was stuffed into a bag. She remembered offering herself up to the Magister, the queen, and Andre. As she recollected the pain of the last two bites, she began vomiting.

Eric held her tightly and whispered in her ear as she retched, "What's going on, Carly? I gave you blood. Do you need more?"

As she finally got her breath, she began sobbing and heaving, "Never make me feed anyone else, Eric, please. I'm only yours. Just yours. Please." Although Carly knew that she and Eric expected something horrible to happen to the queen and Andre after they fed from her, she hated the feeling of guilt she bore. She knew that she was responsible for their death—at least as the immediate catalyst for it.

"Never, my darling, never."

Carly finally gathered herself up at looked at the Magister, who was barking orders into a telephone and also at guards who were trying to cordon off the remains of the queen and her second to prevent "transmission" of the "unknown pathogen." The small bureaucrat raised his finger to Carly and Eric to suggest that he would be with them "in a minute."

"Eric," Carly asked, "how long was I out?"

"A little over an hour, but you didn't seem to be in any distress after you fed from me—almost immediately after you collapsed."

"Did I faint?" Carly still couldn't bear to think of herself as a "fainter." She'd always thought of herself as a "tough farm-girl," who could cope with large animals, or a field archaeologist who could deal with infernal temperatures and bushels of dust. Her new life, as a "vampire paramour" and a fainter, seemed slightly to Edwardian for her own comfort. She knew she had to discuss this with Eric. She couldn't bear to be perceived as fragile.

"I don't think that describes it."

Carly finally realized that he looked frightened, that his face bore the same expression that she'd seen in her dreams as he looked on in horror at his family as they were torn apart by werewolves.

The Magister approached them, his arms extended toward Carly, although he still had his cellphone in his hand. "My dear friend, I feared we would lose you too."

"Really?" Carly didn't know how much he knew about her plan with Eric.

"Yes." The Magister placed his right hand over his heart. "At first, genuinely, I thought you'd managed to poison the two of them somehow. But then I looked at them more closely and now I see that's truly impossible."

Eric squeezed her hand after she looked to him for confirmation. Still, she asked, "You're sure that they didn't react to my blood?"

"I don't see how." The Magister shook his head. "Truly, I can't see how you could have done anything to them, especially since you allowed me to feed from you first."

After squeezing her hand again, Eric spoke up. "So I presume that Carly will not be harassed by members of the Authority?"

"No. I discussed the issue with our most scientifically minded Chancellor directly, and she is certain that this must be some unknown pathogen, not something from Ms. Michael's blood." The Magister moved slightly so that he could direct Carly's attention to the remains of the queen. "If she'd died the true death as vampires typically do, her remains wouldn't look...well...there's no other word for it. They wouldn't look human."

"Can I see?" Carly's interests as an anthropologist were suddenly awakened.

"Carly, you're still weak," Eric objected.

"No." Carly stood up to demonstrate her strength. "I think I feel fine. I want to take a look at them both."

"I'm not leaving your side."

The Magister expressed concern immediately. "Eric, I'm concerned about your nearing the remains. Honestly, I don't want any vampires nearing them. In fact, if I could burn this whole place to the ground right this second, I would, but the Authority doesn't want me to, because they want to transfer their operations to New Orleans."

"What?" The sudden intrusion of politics refocused Eric's attention.

"Yes. You have no idea, Eric, what a mess Sophie-Ann has caused. Although Nan rubs a few people the wrong way, the general plan is to move her to New Orleans along with other public relations arms of the Authority, and perhaps even the Authority complex itself, although there are slightly more complex issues there."

"What will happen to the sheriffs?"

"It depends if the monarch is replaced or whether Louisiana is partitioned among the other bordering kingdoms. Some people are talking about making New Orleans the District of Columbia of vampires."

"What will you recommend, Magister?"

"Well, Eric, I've already told you what I would prefer, but you've refused a number of kingships, although I don't know why."

Eric looked at the floor. "I have certain unmet obligations that I must discharge before I become the king of any territory or any group."

_Revenge_...

Carly didn't know if the thought rebounded through Eric's mind and into hers, or whether she simply recalled the vow as it climbed on steam toward the heavens.

"Magister," Carly revisited her earlier question, "May I examine the remains?"

"Carly," he responded, "if you can support yourself, if you won't collapse again, you can take a look."

Without hesitation, Carly began walking toward the queen's remains. After crossing the tape that separated that region of the foyer from the rest of the room, Carly raised the plastic sheeting that concealed the from view. "Fascinating," she said under her breath.

"What?" Eric heard her and pressed her for information immediately. "What do you see?"

"If I hadn't watched her fall apart, I would say that these remains were about seven hundred to eight hundred years old." Carly had worn her hair up, so she removed a pin from her hair to use as a probe while she examined the bones. "These remains look as if they'd been stored in a catacomb or other aerobic environment."

She stood and walked back into the library. Andre's bones were still articulated, and large sections of skin remained on them, and his hair remained positioned on his scalp. She spoke loudly so that her voice carried back into the foyer, "Andre's remains look better, closer to two hundred and fifty or three hundred years, but still in that same aerobic environment."

These two bodies looked as if they'd died human deaths, not the "True Death" of vampires. "Magister, how old were they? How long had they been vampires?"

"If they'd died natural deaths during their own lifetimes, that would be how old their bodies would look now."

"And vampires just disintegrate, right?" Carly tried to get a sense of what happened to vampires.

"Most people describe it as bloody goo," Eric offered the description.

The Magister chimed in and suggested, "I prefer 'liquification.'"

"If something had been wrong with me," Carly gestured to the two men, "you would both have 'liquified,' right?"

"Yes." The Magister looked over his shoulder and around the room at the assembled vampire and human guards and hangers-on. "On rare occasions when vampires have consumed contaminated blood, they've liquified in the same way that they would have from staking or beheading."

"But the queen and Andre died and decayed as humans, not vampires." Carly looked again at the two men. "Have you ever heard of anything that could do this?"

"Only in legend." The Magister admitted grudgingly and seemed very uncomfortable talking.

Eric followed up and asked, "What was the legend?"

"I heard it in the 1800s in Ireland, before the famine." The Magister summoned them to follow him and went into the now darkened solarium. He looked for a chair and sat down, holding his chin, and fought some apparent internal struggle. "You cannot, under any circumstances, allow anyone to know I told you this story."

"Of course, Magister." Eric nodded ceremoniously, sat, and Carly sank to the floor in front of him.

When the Magister smiled slightly and shook his head in appreciation of her apparent "training," Carly bridled and wished she felt strong enough to sit apart from Eric. Instead, she tolerated his interpretation of her submissiveness.

"A nest of vampires had behaved inappropriately, and I'd been called to discipline them," the Magister began. "While I was there, a local patriarch sickened, and a newly made vampire went to the family home. He heard a woman singing from a nearby hill and attacked her. He died almost exactly as the queen and Andre had. Since he was such a young vampire, he was nearly an intact corpse, and his own human family recognized him. They circulated the story that he'd been taken by the fairies and his corpse had been returned to the community so that he could be buried with the prominent family patriarch."

"The woman who was singing," Carly began and then drifted off.

The Magister finished her sentence, "was a Banshee."

"Well, then, we know that Carly has nothing to do with their deaths." Eric smiled and stroked Carly's hair. "She's a human from New York. And I don't believe your family is Irish, is it?"

"No, Dutch."

"Of course." The Magister agreed. "This is the problem. We don't even know if Banshees are real—apart from this story, we have no other information. The same is true for fairies. We have legends, but few verifiable accounts. And the stories about fairies are even more dangerous to us."

"What do the legends say about fairies?" Carly asked, hoping that she could gain more information about Sookie, who must be one of these troublesome light beings called fairies.

"The legends say that a vampire who feeds from a fairy can day-walk." The Magister glowered and shook his head again, although more violently. "You can see, obviously, how that story has killed many vampires."

"I guess they think they've found a fairy and then meet the sun unprepared," Eric suggested.

The Magister gestured "of course," and added, "Vampires have also killed one another struggling to seize a supposed fairy or half-fairy from another vampire." The Magister tapped his cane on the floor, "Almost all effects from these supposed fairies can be attributed to placebo effects." Coming in closer to Carly and Eric, the Magister whispered, I would guess that the queen thought she'd caught hold of a fairy in her little Hadley.

"Why do you say that?" Eric wanted to have some sense of how the Magister addressed these legends, partially, Carly supposed, so that he could protect her more fully.

"First, did you notice how bright the lights were in her solarium? I think she believed she'd gained some tolerance to light, although not sunlight." He touched his nose, "The girl is sweet, but no fairy. Sophie-Ann, I fear, was delusional, perhaps because of whatever illness she shared with Andre."

"Perhaps," Eric concurred.

The Magister popped out of his chair, and then asked, "Carly, could you provide me with the contact information for this art dealer contact you know?"

"Of course, right away. What is your plan?"

Smiling like a cat who has not only caught but skinned and sold the canary at a profit, the Magister said, "I'm hopeful that there is someway I can seem to punish Christophe cruelly, but actually allow us to celebrate his talents after his death. As I recall, they are substantial."

"I'm sure Abdullah will be able to help in whatever way." Carly paused and added, "If you're going to call him now, could I make the contact so that you don't startle him? I can at least fill him in on what's happened."

The Magister gestured again to suggest, "as you will." Carly dialed her home number from the queen's solarium phone, anticipating that her mother or Abdullah would be more likely to answer a call from a strange phone number rather than that from her cellphone. She just hoped that they weren't cavorting with Jean-Jacques.

"Yes, what, who is calling at this infernal hour," Abdullah stuttered as he answered the phone.

"Abdullah, it's Carly."

"My lord, my friend, are you all right, why are you calling right now?"

"Well," Carly tried to find an entry point other than, _I've just killed two really bad vampires with the power of my valkyrie—or banshee—or whatever the hell blood and I need your assistance convincing a very disturbed vampire artist that we're destroying his artistic legacy so that he doesn't seem to be getting off easy. "_Um, well, you know the paintings that Edgar Martin sent to you?"

"Yes, I sent you pictures."

"He didn't paint them. Another vampire, who has been an accomplice to murder here in Louisiana—sort of with Edgar's prompting—painted them."

"That monster! How could Edgar steal another' artists' work!"

Carly loved art dealers. It didn't matter of an artist murdered a million schoolchildren and their puppies. But plagiarism! Sacre bleu!

"Well, also, he's dead."

"He deserves it. Good riddance."

"I'm glad you think so, Abdullah."

"To steal a man's art!" Abdullah seemed to be preoccupied with this one point. "How can I credit the real artist?"

"Here's the thing, Abdullah, I'd like you to talk to a man called 'The Magister,' who is, well..." Carly tried to find an appropriate term to describe him and settled upon "... the supreme court of the vampires."

"Happily. Is he there?"

Carly handed the phone to the Magister and said, "Abdullah is happy to talk with you."

Her introduction complete, Carly retreated to Eric's embrace and tried to hide from the world. He whispered to her, "We have to get you home, Carly."

"I don't know if I can sleep." She looked at him and realized that she was terrified of what she'd become. _We are life and death..._

"I'll be with you. You've done nothing wrong."

"I'm trapped in this world now, aren't I?"

"Only in my world." Eric kissed her. "You're in my world, and I'll keep you safe from everything."

"Can you?" She rubbed her cheek against his and whispered to him, "Can you protect me from myself?"

"Please let me try, Carly." Eric took her left hand and said, "I just want the chance to try."

"I don't know how much more I'll change."

"We'll work together, Carly." Eric examined her carefully and pressed his forehead to hers, "Everything you are is mine, but everything I am is yours as well."

Carly giggled at the sudden reciprocity that Eric seemed to offer, "Will you be able to say those magic words again when everything is normal?"

He smiled, "I'll even say them now, when the Magister will likely humiliate me for my sentimentality."

"Really? I don't believe you, Eric Northman." Carly felt light-hearted again as she baited him to say "I love you."

"Carly Michael," Eric dropped to one knee, and Carly started to laugh and averted her eyes, "look at me!" Carly complied and met his gaze fully. "I love you, and I will protect you."

"I love you, Eric."

"And you have already protected me, Carly." They kissed, and heard the Magister whistling.

"I can't believe that Eric Northman has become such a pussy!" The Magister called out derisively after finishing his conversation with Abdullah.

"Magister, such language!" Eric smiled.

"I can say it in Latin too- Cunnus es! Did Carly understand it? It just doesn't have quite the same effect any more."

Carly was exhausted, frightened, and getting pissy, especially since she now understood that "Magister" was probably quite a literal title, and one that this man had worn for hundreds of years. "Yes, I get it."

"Marvelous! I recommend Catullus for a full inventory of horrible things one can say in Latin."

"I don't want to brush up, sir," Carly spoke stridently. "Did Abdullah help you?"

"Yes. And he woke your mother-in-law to be, Eric."

"Lovely." Eric kissed Carly's hand.

"And?"

The Magister dropped his condescension toward the two of them and returned to a more serious tone. "Your friend has been photographing all the art work and says that he can have the photographs printed onto canvas. Your mother volunteered some property she has—a farm in New Jersey—and we'll burn the copies in front of Christophe, so that he can be properly punished, and then we'll kill him and set the poor creature free."

"What happens then?"

"I'm sure the price of Christophe's painting rises to the sky."

"Where will the money go?" Carly wasn't going to let this issue disappear easily.

"I presumed it would go to Abdullah for his trouble." The Magister seemed stupefied by the question.

Carly tried to enlighten him. "Abdullah will get a good commission, but the fees should go to the artist." She looked at both the Magister and Eric. "Do vampires make wills?"

"If they have progeny?" Eric chimed in right away.

"And if they don't?"

The Magister added quickly, "Their monarchs take the money."

"Christophe has neither." Carly looked at the two of them again. "May I make a suggestion?"

"Certainly," the Magister replied.

"The money should go into a fund for his victims and for Edgar's lost progeny so that they can be resettled and that surrogate makers can get a stipend to counteract the damage Edgar did."

"Excellent idea." The Magister tapped his cane and said, "I'll call Cataliades immediately and have him do it." Looking to Eric, the Magister said, "She is a valuable asset, Eric. And she will make an even more valuable vampire some day. You've chosen her well."

"I hesitate to say that, Magister." Eric kissed the top of Carly's head. "I don't want to think that I've chosen her for slaughter...that would be too, I don't know, Norse." He looked at Carly and then at the Magister and said, "I prefer to think that I've chosen her for life."

"Semantics of the basest kind and the basest sentimentality, Northman. Really, I'm appalled."

"Too bad, sir."

"In any case, we will rendezvous at this farm tomorrow night at 10 pm. We will likely need to fly during the day to make it there. According to Edna, charming woman, by the way, I look forward to meeting her, we will have to fly into Trenton and then drive another forty-five minutes to this farm. I will transport Christophe."

"Until tomorrow, then, Magister."

"For you. I still have to help clean up this mess. I won't press you into service, Northman. Attend to this woman of yours."

As they were leaving the building, Carly spotted Hadley, who was sitting forlorn against the wall. Carly didn't dare to peer into her mind, but approached her nonetheless. Hadley didn't welcome her gesture.

"What do you want, bitch?"

"Nothing, Hadley, except to let you know that your family misses you. You should contact them. They won't judge you."

"How the fuck do you know what Gran and that little freak will do?"

"All they want is to love you. Go to Sunday dinner. Promise me, Hadley." Carly felt a tide rise within her and she realized that she was exacting compliance from the addict who had abandoned her family and her child. "Promise me that you will go to dinner on Sunday. They expect you."

"Okay. I'll go." Hadley was quiet.

"Good. All they want is family."

"Okay. Bye."

"Bye, Hadley." As Carly turned away, she was about to let go of the control she had over Hadley's mind, but decided to seize the opportunity. "I'm not a bitch, Hadley. Do something with yourself. Go to school, better yourself. You're not stupid trash. You're worth more than your blood."

Mesmerized, but still sincere, Hadley said, "Thanks. Carly."

Carly let go of the tide and allowed Hadley control over her own mind again, "And say hi to Sookie for me. Apologize that I wasn't able to make it—tell them that you're going in my place."

"I will."

As Eric led Carly out to the circular driveway in front of the queen's residence, Alan and Esther fell in behind them. The four climbed into the van that Eric chartered for the evening and drove back to the airport in silence.

As they drove into the airport, Eric asked, "Alan, we need help at the bar I'm opening. Do you want a job?"

"I guess so." Alan smiled. "I guess I need one. And a place to live."

Esther touched his arm gently and said, "You can stay with me, Alan. Don't worry." She turned her attention to Eric and said, "I'll make sure he's ready to be around people."

"Thank you, Esther." Eric's eyes narrowed slightly. "I've forgotten. Remind me how you're supporting yourself."

Her pride apparent, Esther explained her work: "I do freelance document and web design. Do you have a website for Fangtasia?"

"No, not yet, actually. We weren't going to worry about that until we got closer to our opening date."

"I'll do one for you. No charge." Esther smiled broadly. "You'll be the best on the web."

"Great."

For the rest of the trip, the four were quiet. The three vampires seemed pleased with their new freedom from domination and from the worry of blood dealing vampires. Carly, on the other hand, was quiet only in her demeanor. Within her mind, Carly was on fire with questions and worries.

_What the hell is happening to me? I don't know what's real and what's a dream. What the hell am I? What happens if vampires figure out what I am? If vampires figure out that I'm poisonous to the wrong ones, they'll turn me into a fucking weapon. They'll keep me in a cage. But Eric will keep me safe. What happens if Eric and I fight—if he gets angry with me—could he die if he drank from me?_

"Carly," Eric touched her hand, and she pulled away from him. "What's wrong?"

She looked at him but stayed silent.

"Please, Carly."

"I don't want to hurt you, Eric." Tears crept down Carly's face. "It would kill me..."

"Never. Never." Eric embraced her tightly and continued whispering. "Never. You'll never hurt me, because there's nothing I want more than for you to be mine and alive."

"What will other vampires want from me?"

"I don't care, Carly." His voice was like steel, unmodulated, rigid in its commitment to her, but as frightening as steel. "You are mine. No one else will ever," he raised her chin so that he gazed into her eyes, "ever touch you or drink from you again. I will never allow it."

Carly collapsed into him and tried to shed the tension of her concern, but it still lingered, and Eric still sensed it.

"If I could make you forget all of this, I would." Eric stroked her hair slowly and deliberately. "I will protect you."

"From myself?"

"No, Carly. I can't protect you from yourself, because you still need to learn what you can do."

_Learn what I can do...control people, see into other dimensions and talk to nameless scary creatures who have windows into the universe, see the past from an objective perspective...how can I live like this? How can Eric protect me from that? What happens when it's daytime? What happens when I work—will I be able to work? _

They arrived at the airport and bundled themselves into the plane. Eric insured that Carly was comfortable in her seat—even got her a glass of water—before he went to the cock-pit to talk with the pilot, who made a number of calls. Cellphone to his ear, Eric paced back and forth, even descending the aircraft stairs and walking around outside. After about ten minutes, he returned and settled into his seat.

"We're going straight to New York."

"What?"

"Carly, it's easiest if we do things this way, because we can be at Jean-Jacques before sunrise. Then we can drive down tomorrow evening to your mother's farm. Jean-Jacques is sending a team to her farm to prepare space for the Magister and me." Eric turned to Alan and Esther, "Do you want to be there when Christophe meets the true death?"

"No," Alan whispered.

"I'll be there for him," Esther said.

"You might have to sleep on the floor, Esther, but I appreciate your loyalty. Alan, you'll stay with the king's servants."

Eric snapped his fingers, and the pilot and one attendant closed the door and they began moving toward the runway. Knitting his fingers into hers, Eric raised them to his lips and kissed each lightly. "It will be good for you to see your mother, my sweet child."

"Thank you." Carly genuinely appreciated the few hours she would be able to spend with her mother, although she had no idea whether she'd be able to express the depth of her personal confusion, or explain with any clarity what her father's legacy had become. Perhaps she'd also have a little time to talk to Arianna—or perhaps she could convince her to accompany them to the farm. While Carly didn't know if that was really the best thing—to invite a full-blooded whatever-the-hell they were into a group of vampires—she desperately wanted the chance to spend time with this woman who might be able to explain her visions.

"Why don't you try to sleep? You should rest."

"Is there anything to eat?"

Eric jumped up, "I forgot, yes," and pulled four covered plates out of a small refrigerator. He juggled them back to the seats. "I asked them to get a variety of things for you to eat, although I don't know what you'd like to eat hot or cold."

He'd brought her fruit, roast pork and potatoes, a sandwich, cookies, and yogurt.

"I think I can make do with this." She laughed and kissed his cheek. "Thank you for thinking of this."

"I told you I'd take care of you." Eric smiled.

"No, you said you'd protect me."

"It's all the same."

"No, no it's not."

"Perhaps we're encountering a moment of cultural difference." Eric closed his eyes as the plane took off—but managed to reach out so quickly to keep Carly's food in place that she didn't see his hand move.

In silence, hearing only the whine of the jet engine, Carly ate almost all the food that she found before her. Almost an hour later, Carly pushed away the potatoes uneaten, and burped.

Eric, who'd seemed asleep, laughed heartily at her. "That's a sound worthy of a viking's woman!"

"I'm sorry. "

He pulled her head toward him and said, "Don't apologize. I want you to be healthy."

"And do I keep working?" Carly was still trying to work through the questions that plagued her as she left the late queen's residence.

"If you want to." Eric snapped his fingers to summon the attendant, who was waiting for instructions. She cleared the plastic containers that Carly emptied and asked if she could give anyone anything.

Alan asked for a True Blood—his third of the night.

"I want to work—I don't want to be kept."

"You do important work, Carly. Justice is important, no matter who it's for."

She smiled at Eric and cuddled up to him. "You're being awfully kind for a fierce thousand year old viking."

"I'm full of surprises."

"Or a product of pure fantasy."

He laughed. "Perhaps." After kissing her head, "You should sleep, now that you're belly's full."

"I will," she looked up at him. "I just have one question."

"I'll answer if I can." He nodded toward Alan and Esther's seats.

"Why don't you want to be king?"

"I have a promise that I need to keep before I can ever think of being king—truly being king."

"To your father?"

"Yes, Carly, you're too smart for your own good, I think." Although the statement seemed somewhat ominous, his smile reflected his appreciation of Carly's intelligence.

"I wish I could help you."

"None of us saw his face clearly—I doubt my parents even knew he was there." Eric gently removed her and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "I don't know how you could get a picture of him." Eric cricked his neck to look at her. "He's one of us. But I don't even know if he still exists."

"It might be possible for me to..." Carly suddenly remembered that there was no reason why she couldn't have direct access to this werewolf pack-master.

"Carly?"

"Where are the wolves' bones?"

"In Sweden. Why?"

Carly was quiet for a few moments, because she didn't know if she really wanted to suggest this course of action. "I could hold them...and try to get inside them."

"No." Eric scowled and shook his head violently. "No. I couldn't ask that of you. It would be too much."

"Why?"

"They're animals, Carly. I don't know what it would do to you."

"Eric..." Carly never really talked about the experiences she'd had in her dreams, and Eric had only seen the immediate results that only began happening when she met him. "You don't know what I've seen."

"But to be inside them..."

"I've been inside worse—suffered worse." Carly drew her feet up under her and slid away from Eric. "I think it would have to be easier to die because someone took a sword or an ax to me..."

"I'm not worried about that, Carly. It's their transformation."

"Maybe." Carly sat and considered her recent dream journeys, into Anna, and Greta, and Brian, and Samantha—into Eric's and Pam's pasts and decided that nothing few things could be worse than what she'd experienced in the last week. "Could you get the bones here?"

"Crump might be able to arrange a courier." Eric seemed recalcitrant and uncooperative. "I would prefer you try other means first."

"Like what?" Carly leaned her head back and closed her eyes in frustration. "I can't just go back in time."

A small smile crossed Eric's lips. "Really? How did you hear me? Were you in my mind?"

"About revenge?"

He nodded.

_How did I hear him? I hovered above him, and then I traveled through the fire and the smoke, and went to Friagabi's cave..._

"Maybe. But it wasn't clear—I wasn't present in the same way—it wasn't immediate."

Eric pried her hand out from where she'd wedged it beneath her knee and kissed it. "Do what you can, but don't hurt yourself, Carly."

"Okay."

"Now, I'm the boss...go to sleep."

_He's really gonna get it now..._

"Really, you're the boss?" She felt suddenly playful, and Eric responded to her in kind.

"How could I not be the boss?"

"We'll see." Carly relaxed against him, closed her eyes, and relaxed into the vibrations of the plane, lulled to sleep by the whine of the engine.


	29. Chapter 29

A/N Thank you all again for your continued support and encouragement. As before, I own nothing having to do with True Blood or SVM

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Fragrant with the smells of burnt fat and pungent green stems and leaves, the hot fluid responded to the gentle pressure of the smooth cedar paddle that guided the current in its whirlpool around the cauldron. The soft lapping of the brew caressed enveloped Carly within her dream. She saw, across the hot cauldron, a small bowl-like boat that moved through the steam toward her, a coracle that rocked back and forth, empty, beckoning her into it. As soon as it came into her vision, she steered it, and felt cool water around the boat and the chill of fog encircled the body she inhabited.

The hands that held the coracle were aged—long fingers with engorged and painful knuckles that took the boat on its zig-zag path along the narrow channel. The final light from the gloaming illuminated the edges of the water as it traveled west toward the sea. Before her, as she struggled against the current to travel east, she saw a full moon expand to fill the sky.

The only sounds she heard, the lapping of the water against the coracle, and the low rustle of reeds as they rubbed together, dominated her hearing and were it not for the glint of eyes among the reeds she wouldn't have seen them. As the eyes crept toward the edge of the water, her resolve disappeared and she surrendered to the current. With her eyes still focused toward the moon, the faint yellow points of reflection followed her downstream. Drawn by the current into the rushes, the coracle began to spin until it was caught on the reeds and could no longer move. The eyes gathered closer to her, until finally one stepped forward onto a narrow promontory that jutted into the river. A wolf—it looked like the size of a dire wolf—let forth a howl. Its jaws opened wide and devoured the moon.

A chorus of howls rose into the sky and echoed against the banks of the river, and her own voice joined the wolves.

"Who is your master?"

More howls answered her.

"You're only stupid beasts, then, aren't you? I thought you would speak to me."

One growling wolf took a running leap into the coracle, unseating her and sending them both into the water. She struggled to swim as heavy woolen garments were inundated with water. The wolf swam toward her, grasped her throat, and all was oblivion.

Carly gasped awake.

"Are you all right?" Eric took her hand and looked at her with concern.

"Yes, just a dream."

"What kind?"

Carly laughed loudly, "For once, I think it was actually mine."

Eric nibbled at her ear. "I hope I made you gasp."

"No, unfortunately." She kissed him right in front of his ear and then pulled Eric's mouth toward her.

After a few deep kisses, Eric asked, "What did you dream about?"

"Wolves, but they weren't any help. And I was kind of scary and old." Carly began giggling, "It was so vivid, and I was a total old hag."

"Perhaps it was a nightmare instead." Eric looked out the window toward the airport. "We'll be landing in a few minutes. Just in time. We only have about 45 minutes or an hour before the sun rises, so we're taking a helicopter."

"Um..." Carly had a pathological fear of helicopters, because she refused to believe they could actually fly. When she lived in New Mexico, she went out to visit a set of petroglyphs and watched in horror as a helicopter fell out of the sky. The helicopter's occupants were shredded like pulled pork.

"Carly?"

"Can I just take the train to his house? I don't have to make it there by sunrise."

"Is my sweet valkyrie afraid to fly?" Eric teased her.

Resenting him at that moment, Carly crossed her arms. "I'm afraid to fly in things that defy physics."

"You flew in my arms."

"That's different."

"How? I defy physics, last I checked."

Now she felt furious. "You don't have horrifying metal blades that can shred me into a million pieces."

Despite her efforts to push him away, Eric encircled her in his arms. "If there's any indication that the helicopter will fail, I'll grab you and fly out of it."

"How are you supposed to get out of a falling helicopter?"

"Don't you trust me?"

"Implicitly. But I hate helicopters."

"I'm not going to torture you, Carly. Let me at least arrange a driver for you."

"I can take a cab." Carly was still angry at him, although she couldn't really understand why. "I'm not incompetent. I can make my own way into New York City and then I'll go straight to my mom's."

"Will it make you feel better to do that?"

"Yes."

"Then it's done. With one condition."

"What?"

"That you let me speak to her before you get in the cab."

"You'll wake her. Why?"

"I want to let her know what you've suffered through tonight." Eric crossed his own arms.

"I can let her know that myself."

"Do you have the key to her home with you?"

Carly thought about it, and then looked through the small purse she'd brought with her, and realized, to her near fury, that she didn't have the townhouse key, or the farm key, or any of the keys she would need.

She inhaled deeply and then said, "Why am I getting so angry with you?"

"Probably because you're feeling angry." Eric smiled and stroked her cheek. "I can imagine you've got a maelstrom going on inside you, and you're lashing out."

"Do you read pop psychology?"

"No," Eric seemed particularly satisfied with himself. "You may recall that I have observed human behavior for a thousand years in innumerable cultures."

"Fine. You're right. We should let her know I'm coming and that I'm in distress...it's not like she hasn't gotten that call before."

Carly recalled her high school breakdown and realized that she didn't know whether her mother received the call during the day or night. At least this time, she could speak for herself.

When they landed and pulled to a stop, Carly called her mother and waited for her to answer the phone. "Carly? Are you all right?"

"Hi mom, yeah, I'm fine."

"Where are you?" Edna didn't sound frantic, but her voice didn't betray any signs of sleep.

"Um.."

Eric filled in the gap, "Newark Airport."

"Did you hear that mom?"

"Yes. Is that Eric?"

Carly couldn't read her mother's voice—whether it reflected excitement or fear about meeting Eric.

"Yeah. We're coming tonight instead of tomorrow."

"I know. Jean-Jacques called and let me know that Eric would be staying with him tonight and that he was going to send you here to spend the day with me."

Carly grunted slightly, "I'm glad to know that I'm such precious cargo."

"Carly, don't be so difficult." Edna scolded her as she hadn't in years.

"Sorry, mom, Eric says that I'm just lashing out at people."

"And I think that he's right about that as well."

Carly wanted desperately to get off the phone, since she might as well get scolded in person, maybe over some tea, than stay on the phone. "Okay, mom, I'll see you in a while. I'm going to be taking a car from the airport."

"No, Carly, Jean-Jacques planned for his daytime butler to bring you over to the house." Edna began to sound worried again, and then she added, "He's armed, so you'll be safe with him."

"Mom, is something going on?"

"Jean-Jacques is just very concerned about the two of you—about your safety until whatever political issues are resolved in Louisiana."

"Okay. I'll see you then."

Carly ended the call and looked at Eric, "Jean-Jacques is worried about us."

"Yes," Eric nodded, "And he probably has reason to be worried about us, since Sophie-Ann had almost as many progeny as Edgar. They'll all want to know what happened. Until the authority can spread the story about their deaths, we're likely to be targets."

"And what about this authority itself? What threat are they to me?" Carly had wanted to ask all night what would happen to her, whether she'd wind up like an alien in Roswell, studied, dissected, in a case, a weapon deployed by one vampire against another.

"The Magister thought we'd rigged silver to your throat, and when I told him we hadn't, he couldn't believe that you were the 'pathogen.' If the Magister is convinced that something else killed Sophie-Ann and Andre, that will be what the authority believes." Taking her face into his hands, Eric kissed her forehead, her nose, and then her lips. "You are mine. This will never happen again, because no one else will ever feed from you but me."

_Revenge..._

The vow that climbed to the heavens on a wisp of steam returned to her and filled her mind.

"What if it were the vampire who killed your..."

"Never again, Carly." Eric pressed their foreheads together. "If I can find him, he dies by my hand. No one else will ever feed from you. I will die first."

The tears were unstoppable and flooded her face. "Please don't say that. I love you too much to hear that, Eric. I have to know that you'll continue on without me when I leave this world."

They sat like that until his phone rang. "It's Jean-Jacques." After he answered the phone, Carly heard an enthusiastic "Bon soir, Eric, nous attendons pour vous deux."

"Oui, Jean-Jacques. Nous venons. À bientôt." Eric turned back to Carly, but included Alan and Esther, who had been in some sort of stasis behind them. "We have to go."

Eric took her hand, and they walked across the tarmac and headed to the helicopter pad. As the four of them approached, they saw a short man, immaculately groomed, wearing a black silk suit with a red silk cravat around his throat.

Carly yelled over the sound of airport, "Is that Jean-Jacques?"

Eric smirked at her and said, "Do you really have to ask?"

When they met, Jean-Jacques and Eric embraced and kissed. Carly was taken aback at the apparent intimacy of the kiss and what it might suggest about their history. Of course, she was even more startled when Eric pushed her toward Jean-Jacques, who embraced her and granted her the same open-lipped kiss he'd placed on Eric.

"Enchanté, Carly." Jean-Jacques smiled expansively at her, and then said, winking, "Vous êtes presque aussi belle que ta mère." He then turned to Eric and said, "I don't know how good Carly's French is, but I think she should know that I've claimed her mother and her charming Syrian for my own."

"I'd wondered," Carly said.

"Don't misunderstand me, mademoiselle, my claim is protective, one of love and affection, not appetite." Jean-Jacques gestured toward the helicopter and said, "Allons, avant le lever du soleil."

"Très bien," Eric responded.

They all wore ear-protection in the helicopter, so Carly couldn't hear anything, so she wondered what Jean-Jacques meant that his claim was "not appetite." She wondered if that meant he wasn't feeding on (or doing anything else with) her mom and Abdullah. In all the years since her father's death, Carly never had discussed her mother's affectional or sex life, and she didn't know if she was even ready to do that now that she had one of her own. But Jean-Jacques fascinated her, nonetheless. Immediately she thought of Hercule Poirot, from his neatly manicured fingernails and spotless suit to his meticulously combed hair. As she thought about it, she realized that he probably was more Belgian than French if he'd been an adviser to Charlemagne. She pressed herself backward into her seat so she could keep both Eric and Jean-Jacques in view at the same time: a thousand year old viking sat on one side and a 1300 year old bishop in the seat before her. The two of them had experienced the middle ages from the front lines, lived through the renaissance, the industrial revolution, both world wars, and still managed to sit together in a helicopter over New York City. Once everything calmed down, she would have to start trying to catalog their collective knowledge, to encourage others to think of vampires not as sexual deviants or demonic presences but as living texts who could impart so much wisdom to the world—at least a few of them probably could.

At the 60th street heliport a Lincoln towncar waited for them. Jean-Jacques took her hand, kissed it, and said, "Dawn approaches and we must get inside. We can reach my home faster together on foot than by car. Malcolm will take you to your mother." Jean-Jacques winked again and said, "He knows the route well."

Eric embraced Carly and kissed her, then pressed a card into her hand. "I've been meaning to give this to you, so this is as good a time as any. Go buy yourself some clothes."

"Eric." Before she could object in earnest that she didn't intend to be kept, and that she had clothes in a closet at her mother's house, he and the other three vampires had swept away.

"Miss Michael," Malcolm's voice called for her attention as he opened the car door. "Could you please get in?"

"Sure," Malcolm closed the door and drove her the ten blocks to her mother's house. "Please stay in the car."

Malcolm exited and Carly could see him pull back his coat. She realized that he had a holstered gun at her hip. He ran up to the door, rang a bell, and came back down to get her.

As she emerged from the car, she said, "I've never met an armed butler before."

"If you hang around Jean-Jacques, you'll never run out of firsts." He escorted her to the door, where her mother waited for her.

The two women embraced, and Edna's thoughts, fears, and experiences from the last four months charged through Carly in one moment. It took a little time before she could inhale, and Edna asked, "Are you okay, sweetheart."

Carly ended the embrace and, stuttering, said, "Yeah, mom, but..."

"What, Carly?" Edna seemed pale and even more concerned.

"Things come to me a lot faster from people now, since I've been in Louisiana."

"So you read my mind, then, Carly?"

"Can we get inside and get some tea before you get pissed off, mom?"

Edna closed her eyes, took a breath, and apologized. "I'm sorry, dear. I'm tired and concerned about you, and confused." Edna took her hand, and Carly steeled herself against the thoughts that cascaded across the tie between them. "Let's have some tea."

Once they were in the kitchen, Edna asked, "Do you want to go to sleep after we have a little something?"

"Desperately." Carly was beyond tired. It seemed as if she had moments of liveliness punctuated by some sort of horror that drained her, and then she collapsed and sought food and sleep.

"Okay. Then decaf, okay?" Edna put on the electric kettle and poured a little milk into a pitcher. She always drank milk from a china tea service, no matter the occasion. Carly sometimes thought that she'd bring a china tea service with her if the four horsemen of the Apocalypse approached.

Although Carly knew everything that had happened, from Jean-Jacques's revelation that he was a vampire, to Abdullah's gallery show, to Edna's new role as a emissary between the first families of New York and the philanthropically inclined vampires of New York and New Jersey—there weren't quite as many as Carly would have thought—she still asked Edna what had been happening in New York.

"It's been wonderful the last few months, really. I've learned so much from Jean-Jacques and all the vampires I've met are so excited to join society freely. I've met about a dozen who are truly extraordinary." Edna smiled sheepishly. "It's like being a teenager again, really."

"How many of them are Jean-Jacques's children?" Carly kept thinking about what Eric had said about vampires and the qualities they sought in one another.

Edna scooted to the edge of her seat. "I've only met one, and do you know who he is?"

"No," Carly lied, but she knew how much her mother liked to gossip.

"Jonas Salk. He's one of the scientists who figured out how to synthesize blood. He's amazing." Edna made the two of them tea, and then she settled back down into her seat while it brewed. "Jean-Jacques really seems committed to making the world a better place, but I don't know how many others feel the same way." Edna gazed at her daughter. "He says that some of them are really terrible—that you can tell how bad the vampires are by how much the people around them suffer."

"Well, let me tell you that Louisiana's queen wasn't any great shakes." Carly closed her eyes and tried to drive away the vision of her as a bloating corpse decaying hundreds of years before her.

"Jean-Jacques said that she was basically harmless, although extraordinarily greedy. He says that many of the vampire monarchs are consumed with greed—the king of Mississsippi particularly, he says."

"Things are definitely terrible there." Carly looked at her mom and decided that she really didn't want to be talking about vampires.

"Did you know that dad wasn't human?"

Edna took a deep breath and poured tea into both of their cups. Despite her efforts, Carly couldn't access anything in her mother's mind about her dad. "Your father was...extraordinary, Carly. I've never loved anyone the way that I loved him. I don't care what he was. He was my husband and the love of my life and your father. That was all I needed to know."

While a lovely sentiment, it wasn't enough for Carly. "Did he ever tell you what his people were called?"

Edna rubbed her brows and seemed pained to talk about it. "When we agreed to marry, he told me about them and told me that I could only tell you and no one else, but I could only tell you once."

"So that's why you've never said anything?" It made sense, Carly thought, because why would her mom tell a child a story she could never repeat?

"One of the reasons."

"What's the other?"

"Once I've told you, I won't remember him telling me the story." Edna started to weep. "When I tell you, I lose him."

Carly reached across the table and held her mother's hand. "Then don't tell me, mom. I'll talk to Arianna."

"Thank you, sweetheart."

The next hour was devoted to discussions about the farm, about the current census of critters, about the 4-H girls from Trenton that Edna sponsored who were able to keep their pigs and goats at the farm. They came up three times a week in a van, but the caretaker at the farm took care of them the rest of the time.

They also talked about the various other Knickerbocker families in her "set": the weddings, the divorces, the children, the trips to rehab, the gifts to institutions. She talked joyfully about Abdullah and how excited he was to be the premiere "Vampire Gallery" owner, even though he was a little afraid of his artists. She also talked about Arianna.

"We finally had her over day before yesterday, I guess right after you talked to her. She came by and asked if she could be my friend." Edna smiled brightly and laughed a little bit. "She's probably more terrifying than all the vampires put together, but she's so much fun."

"Did she tell you anything about herself?"

"Not really, just that she is your dad's half-sister. She said that once you knew more, she could share more with me. I guess there is some kind of taboo—she can only tell me what she's told you."

"So you know what she is?"

"No, not really, although I do know that she did wonders with my plants."

"What?"

"Well, I had these little plants on my terrace, and they had terrible aphids. She blew on them, all the aphids died, and the plants are thriving." Edna finished her second or third cup of tea and said, "I could rule the garden club with her in my corner."

They laughed together, and Carly realized that it was the first time they had in years.

"Mom, I need to get some sleep. Do you still have some of my clothes?"

"A few, darling, but they're all a couple of years old. Let me measure you, and I'll go out and get you a few things that are suitable for an auto de fe." Her smile was contagious.

"Seriously, mom?"

"I was thinking a fourteenth century nun's habit might be good." They laughed heartily again.

After a couple of passes with the tape measure, Carly crawled into bed and fell asleep immediately.

Perfuming the cave, the cauldron boiled and churned and the steam rose to fill Carly, who somehow held the paddle and stirred the viscous fluid. She turned her head to look around the cave, which was empty, although the walls still shimmered as drops of water—perhaps water—or magic slid down to the floor. Carly walked away from the cauldron, leaving the paddle to the mercy of the eddy, and approached the walls. Reaching her hand forward, the water parted at her touch. Without hesitation, Carly stepped through the wall of water and fell through space into a forest. The smell was familiar to her, but the soil was dry and the temperature was warm.

Walking through the forest, she felt her feet on the soil, so she looked down at her feet, gnarled with age, and she stumbled with that recognition. Carly hauled herself back up onto a stick with the swollen joints that twisted her hands into claws. As she moved slowly along the forest floor, she heard drums and voices rising into screams that descended to growls. Once she spotted the fire, she stopped, and watched.

Men and women in various states of undress pushed and pulled at each other, ripping meat from a roasted carcass perched next to the fire, fucking each other, strangling each other, and then a grand personage strolled into the camp. All the others fell to their knees and lined up before the robed figure. He raised his left arm and then drew a sword across the forearm. Blood sprayed from the arm and the people kneeling before him lapped at it like hungry animals. Within seconds, the man in the robe demanded, "My tribute!"

One of the blood-drinkers ran outside the circuit of the firelight and dragged back a naked boy, perhaps ten or eleven years old. Two held the child against a boulder and the figure dropped his robe and ripped into the child's body. Carly couldn't look away—knowing this was the thing that took Eric's family away, this was the monster who sent wolves into a hall to rip the throats from women and babies.

With colossal effort, Carly dragged herself, her body failing more with ever step, toward the sodomitic murderer, until she could grasp his hair and pull him back to face her. The creature hissed, spitting blood at her, and all was silence and darkness.

"Carly, darling, wake up."

"I saw him..." Carly grasped her mother's shoulders. "I need paper, mom, please, pencil. I need to draw him before I forget."

Edna rushed to a desk in the corner to pull out a sketchbook that Carly had forgotten on a previous visit and a handed her a pen that had been in her pocket. "Will this do?"

"For now." Carly began to sketch frantically. "A pencil would be better. Can you get me a pencil?"

Edna left Carly and ran into another room, where she rummaged, until she returned with a handful of pencils and charcoals. "Here, Carly."

Starting a new page, Carly began sketching with a pencil the horrific, hissing face that was covered in a child's blood, a face twisted in anger and upon its own axis. She knew that she'd never recognize the face if she saw it again in normal circumstances—it was so inhuman full of anger and greed, so unbearably cruel and avaricious.

But perhaps Eric or Jean-Jacques or someone else might recognize it and allow Eric to fulfill the only promise he could to his dying father. Perhaps then he could move into a position of greater leadership that would allow Louisiana to thrive, to recover, to become as strong as him.

When she finished the sketch, Carly fell back to the bed, panting, and crying. She realized her mother was no where to be seen, and when Carly looked out the window, she saw that it was late afternoon and the sun neared the horizon where it would hover in its early autumn course until six thirty, when it would suddenly plunge beneath the horizon, seemingly without warning.

Leaving the sketch behind, Carly went out into the hallway and called to her mother. "Mom, is everything okay?"

Edna popped out of her bedroom, visibly shaken, and said, "Yes, sweetheart. I'm fine. Are you going to be okay?"

"I think so." Carly looked at her mom. "Did you wake me up? Or did I wake up on my own?"

"Eric called me and told me to check on you, that he was sure you were distressed."

"Was I upset?"

Stepping close to her daughter, Edna touched her shoulder tentatively, and asked, "Did you look at your bed?"

Pivoting back toward her room, Carly looked at the bed and saw how she'd shredded her pillowcase and bit open her pillow. Beneath the remains of her pillow, a faint shadow of blood was apparent.

"Was I bleeding, mom?"

Edna sobbed, closed her eyes, and said, "It was coming out of your eyes, Carly."

Carly ran into the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. Blood streaked her face, but her eyes themselves were clear. Once she washed the residue away, she couldn't tell anything had been different. "Were you able to pick up anything for me?"

"Yeah, Carly." Edna was quiet. "I got you a couple of outfits and some underwear."

Carly could see her mother's worried face in the mirror behind her. "Mom?"

In barely a whisper, she said, "You better let Eric know you're okay. You can just hit the return call button on my phone." Edna turned and walked back into her room, where she lay down on her own bed.

"Eric?"

"Carly are you okay?"

"I think so." Carly realized that he shouldn't even be awake. "Are you okay? Shouldn't you be asleep?"

"No, I'm fine. But I felt..." Eric went silent.

"What?"

"I'm sorry, Carly, but I felt horror and panic from you, and then it felt like you'd..."

She cut him off. "Please don't say it, Eric. I had a dream, but I'm okay. I think I saw him."

The line hissed and crackled between them, and Carly waited for Eric to respond. "Did you recognize him?"

Carly had met a half a dozen vampires, and she presumed there must be thousands if not hundreds of thousands more. "No, but I sketched him. It's pretty ugly—he was feeding on someone."

"Perhaps Jean-Jacques or the Magister will recognize him." Eric's tone was measured and monotone. "You can bring the sketch, but you must tell Abdullah that our only reason for seeking an identification is to return it to its subject. Anonymous sketches like that, especially violent sketches like that, can't be shown in public. It would do too much damage."

"I understand."

"Thank you, Carly." Silence filled the phone line again. "We'll be there in about an hour and a half, I think, perhaps a little longer. Is there anything you need?"

"No, but I think my mom should stay here. I don't think she should see this. Seeing me really upset her." Carly thought Eric should know what happened. "I'm okay now, but I was bleeding from my eyes."

More silence lay between them.

"Jean-Jacques wants her there, but she doesn't need to see the execution."

"Okay. I'll let her know." Perhaps, she thought, Eric might know what happened. "Is that weird, the bleeding?"

"I have no idea what happened, Carly. But as long as you feel strong, and it's not still happening, I'm sure you'll be fine." He paused again and added, "I'll ask if Jean-Jacques knows a healer."

"Thank you." A compulsion rose from her, "I don't want to be separated from you again, Eric."

"You won't be." He hung up the phone.

Carly walked into her mother's room and lay down next to her, with her head against her mother's shoulder, a way she'd rested against her when she was a little girl. "I'm okay, mom."

Running her fingers through her daughter's hair until she encountered blood, Edna said, "I know, sweetheart, but it's so frightening."

"I'll take a shower and change, but do you think you could call Arianna? I'd like to talk with her."

With renewed purpose, Edna got up and moved to the phone. "That's an excellent idea. She wants to meet Jean-Jacques, so she'll be here when they get here if I call her now."

"Mom," Carly was nervous to broach the subject, "how do you feel about Jean-Jacques?"

"Oh, sweetheart, he reminds me so much of my uncle. It's like Benjamin's alive again, only ancient, and powerful, and vegetarian." Edna laughed loudly.

"Vegetarian?"

"Jean-Jacques hasn't fed on people since he came to New York, although he's concealed that information from other vampires."

"Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously."

"So you two aren't...?"

"No," Edna's smile grew a little sillier, "he's also celibate. There's some connection, he said."

"Really?"

"Yes, he doesn't lose as much blood as other vampires, because he doesn't have sex, so he doesn't have to eat as much. He's been celibate for almost his entire existence, he said."

"Wow." Carly felt guilty, again, for assuming that someone was behaving sexually when he'd been doing something else. She thought she wouldn't make that mistake again after the night in Memphis, but old assumptions, apparently, die hard.

"Okay, well, now that I've asked that question..."

"...you'll ask about me and Abdullah?" Edna completed the uncomfortable sentence for her daughter.

"Yes. I've never wanted to ask, but are you two an item?"

"He wants us to be, but I've resisted. He loves me, but we've never done anything. I just can't. I still..." Edna started to cry.

"Oh, mom, please don't cry. It's been forever. You deserve to be happy."

"I am happy, Carly." Edna wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. "I don't need sex to be happy."

"Mom," Carly blushed but laughed anyway, "it certainly helps. I didn't think I needed any intimacy to be happy either, but this has been an amazing week and a half."

Looking straight at her, Edna said sternly, and with a great deal of fear in her voice, "You're also crying blood."

"A symptom I am certain will not develop if you start sleeping with Abdullah."

"Go shower, Carly." Edna began walking toward the stairs. "I'll call Arianna over for tea and we'll talk."

A white paper bag full of clothes sat on the dressing table in the bathroom. Within the bag, Carly found a beautiful sleeveless plum silk dress, much longer than she would have chosen for herself, with matching lacy underwear, bra, and flat shoes. It looked much more appropriate for a gallery opening or a fancy dinner than a conflagration and execution. Of course, Carly thought, her mother was more accustomed to shopping for the former than the latter.

She showered, dried her hair, and put on her costume for the evening. It really did look gorgeous, she thought, although she thought it would be much too cool for an early autumn evening, even with a bonfire.

As she went downstairs, she heard playful laughter and three voices mixing together: her mother, Abdullah, and Arianna. Each step felt like it took a year to traverse. When she finally entered the parlor, whose early 20th century architectural features framed modern, taupe furniture, she saw the three of them positioned at artistic intervals through the room. Edna stood against the mantlepiece, Abdullah lounged on an arm chair, and Arianna floated, it seemed, next to the parlor entrance to the dining room.

"Carly!"

Arianna's exclamation was full of appreciation.

"Arianna?"

"Of course, my sweet child! Your mother has impeccable taste." The beautiful woman who stood before her was startlingly beautiful, but otherworldly and frightening at the same time. She was middle-height, with long red hair streaked with silver, and wore a long white gown that looked like something stolen from the set of the _Lord of the Rings_. Arianna spoke to her mind to mind. _Please don't fear me, Carly, I'm here for you._

_I'm not afraid of you, Arianna. I'm afraid of what I'm becoming._

"Carly, we should be polite, if possible." Arianna looked over to Edna and Abdullah, who were staring at the two of them.

"You're right." _Do you think what I will say will frighten them?_

_Not as much as our speaking telepathically. They're just dreams right now, that's all you have to say._

"Arianna, would you like to meet Jean-Jacques?" Carly sent Arianna the vision of the people in the cave and their message that they would both thrive with the right vampires, along with the knowledge that Jean-Jacques stopped feeding on humans hundreds of years before.

"It would be a pleasure," Arianna's enthusiasm was apparent. "He's quite magnificent, and if they say I'll be safe, then I also feel an obligation to them."

"To whom?" Edna asked, looking back and forth between them.

"The ancestors, Edna. Your daughter has been granted a special privilege—she's spoken to our ancestors, who rarely reveal themselves." Arianna smiled and touched Carly's shoulder. "I apologize, Edna, that the two of us are sharing information through multiple channels simultaneously. I'll try to make sure we say everything aloud, so that the two of you aren't left out."

"Thank you." Edna sounded officious and slightly annoyed.

When Carly looked at her mother, the wave of anger, resentment, and jealousy nearly floored her. "Mom, don't worry. I love you."

"Please don't do that, Carly. I'll deal with my own frustrations." Looking at Arianna, with some anger visible, she said, "I really am happy you have someone to explain things to you. I just wish I knew enough to be there for you."

"I'm no threat, Edna, none whatsoever." Laughing lightly, Arianna shared, "You'll meet my daughter someday and learn what a poor mother I am. I haven't seen her in six hundred years she's dislikes me so much."

Edna paled, "Six hundred?" Dizzy, she led herself to a side chair, and motioned toward Abdullah, who rushed to her side.

"Edna, what can I get you?"

"Could you manage the tea? I think I need some." She touched his wrist gently, "And could you add a little brandy?"

Gathering herself back up to a straight position, Edna repeated, "Six hundred years? So how old are you, Arianna?"

With a girlish giggle, "I've lost track, dear Edna. But I've begun to show my age, probably because I don't eat as well as I used to." _Carly, have you learned to feed?_

_On death? I don't know. _

_Perhaps your visions feed you...we must investigate further. Although you may not need to. But if you can access the ancestors, you likely do. Perhaps your vampire feeds you..._

"So how old was my husband?" Edna's voice trembled, and Carly noticed her mother hadn't used his name.

"The man you married, whom I knew as Tiwazbealwe, came into this world probably about three thousand years ago on the shores of the Baltic. I think it's in Poland now. Our mother enjoyed that region particularly, and she bore a number of us there. She also enjoyed their stories, which embraced us so quickly and fully. None of them seemed to mind having us around."

"Three thousand years..."

"Yes, dear Edna, but he loved you desperately, and he loved dear Carly too." _None of us have ever bred with a human, Carly. The light fairies are little whores, but we've always kept to our own._ "Edna," Arianna spoke slowly, "he abandoned his way of life for you. He embraced human life and chose to age with you. If that choice hadn't enraged our uncle so much, he would have lived out his life with you as a man. Without feeding properly, he would have aged alongside you."

Edna had begun to stroke the arm of her chair with increasing ferocity. "You keep talking about feeding, Arianna. Are you vampires too?"

"No." _Help me explain this Carly._

_I don't know what the hell we do. How am I supposed to help you?_

Arianna groaned and glared at Carly. "When people die, they release a kind of..."

Carly finally understood and interrupted. "energy. We feed on that energy. If no one picks it up, it contaminates the environment, causes despair. I think it's what people feel when they go into a haunted house."

"You eat souls?" Edna looked disgusted.

"No," Arianna corrected, "The soul as it's described in human mythologies isn't an excess, a remainder—it's a function of the mind that disappears with the body."

"So you're telling me there's no such thing as a soul?"

_Is your mother religious, Carly?_

_No, she's never seemed to be. But I think she may have been holding onto reuniting with dad._

"My brother believed in a the soul, but thought that its immortality came through art, Edna." Arianna gestured toward the family portrait that hung over the mantlepiece. "He's with you, there, but that is all any of us have. We live only in memory." She smiled, "Perhaps that's our contribution to humanity. When we take on that energy, we take on their memories, and they become part of us."

The tears glimmered on Edna's cheeks, and Carly moved to hold her mother, but she pushed her away. "I'm fine, Carly. I'd just always hoped..."

"I know, mom. Why wouldn't you?"

Her mother's smile gave Carly some comfort. Edna said, smiling in a way that reflected some cynicism, "You two could destroy all human hope with a few well-placed television interviews."

Arianna laughed loudly, "And, that, my sweet sister-in-law, is why I keep to myself. I love it here, love walking through the city, visiting the charming elderly and sick of New York city. But I would never rip away what gives them hope. We are inhuman, but we're not monstrous."

Abdullah returned with the tea and a bottle of brandy and snifters for all of them. "I fear before long we will all seek brandy, so I thought I would bring it now."

_What's happening, Carly?_

Carly sent the vision of Edgar's death and Christophe's impending execution and Arianna's eyes gleamed. "Can I come along, please?"

"Mom," Carly asked, "did Jean-Jacques tell you what was going to happen tonight? Are you coming along?"

"Yes, but I'm going to stay in the house. I don't want to watch anyone die, even if he's a murder." Edna rubbed her temple, "I can't believe it's going to happen on my property, but it seemed like the right thing to do for the poor man."

"He's a genius," Abdullah raised his tea-cup. "I wish we had more works, although I do wish they weren't all painted in blood."

"About that," Carly was concerned about how the paintings were marketed. "Abdullah, if anyone asks, it's all donated blood."

"Of course," Abdullah nodded in agreement. "They would wind up in an evidence room, yes?"

"Probably." Carly was still concerned about her mother, who'd just learned she'd been married to an ancient creature who ate what was left over when people died, but she also felt as if she needed some answers from Arianna. "Arianna, could I ask you a couple of questions about dreams that I've had?"

"Of course, Carly."

"I've dreamt of being in the cave and then I wound up in this old body..."

"Was the body old in the cave?"

"No," Carly could remember the cauldron that seethed with the smells of fat and plants and the paddle that she stirred it with, but she couldn't remember any sensations from the body that held the paddle.

"Those are probably memories that another of us gained from one of the dead," Arianna explained.

"We can do that?

"I have heard of such things happening when we gain the intercession of the ancestors. Did you know where you were?"

"I think it was Scandinavia, or northern Europe somewhere." Carly felt that the forest was familiar, although in a different season from the visions she'd seen of Eric's life, but without any sense of the stars, she wouldn't be able to say exactly where she was. All her attention had been on the horrific scenes of terrestrial life, not the organization of the celestial world.

"Your father fed often in that area, so you might have his visions." Arianna smiled, "My father fed mostly in Sumeria, so I have lovely dreams of huge rituals every once and a while, quite spectacular things, although some of them do trouble me and keep me from sleeping." _Holocaust...the children fed to the fires...they're horrible, Carly. _"But they could also be from your grandmother. She took the name Brunhilda—she had quite the fondness for men like your Eric."

Edna stood up in astonishment, "The Valkyrie? You're the grand-daughter of one of the valkyries?"

"Yes." Arianna was calm, but she seemed perplexed. _Why is your mother so frightened?_

"They aren't the daughters of Odin, mom. It's just the name people gave them." _Right, Arianna, there's no Odin, right?_

_Well, not quite like Wagner's if that's what you're asking._

_I'm sorry I asked._

"I'm sorry, Carly, I'm just sort of astonished."

"I thought dad told you all this."

"I told you about that, Carly. I can't tell you anything without forgetting him. I don't really know what I know."

"Mom, it's fine."

"No, Carly, it's not. I'm worried about you." Edna poured a few sips of brandy into a snifter and rolled it around the glass. She inhaled deeply, and then took it all in one swig. "When I saw you with blood streaming down your face, I was so frightened."

"That's probably because of the vampire blood in her system, Edna. There's no reason to worry."

"Vampire blood?" Edna shifted her head to one side and used a tone that suggested disappointment and fear. "Why?"

"I would have died, mom." Carly grabbed her mother's hand and brought the two of them to the sofa to sit. "When I was in Sweden, I had one of my dreams, about his mother's death, and I stabbed myself in the throat. If he hadn't given me his blood, I would have died."

"He was there?"

"Sometimes, although we didn't know it." Not knowing how exactly to explain his presence, she opted for the simplest explanation. "He couldn't reveal himself to us, because the big announcement hadn't happened yet. We all would have been terrified. But I owe him my life, mom."

Of course, Carly left out all the episodes where they'd traded blood while screwing each other silly.

"Okay. I'm sorry, this is all so much." Edna wrapped her hand around her daughter's. "No matter what, you're my daughter, and I love you."

"I know mom, I love you too." Carly hugged her mother again, and then asked the other question that was on her mind, "Did you ever hear anything about our earliest ancestors here? Was there anything strange about them?"

"Not particularly, except for the woman who married the first von Houten, who was smuggled into the country."

"How?"

"I don't know a lot of the details, but the story was that she and her sister were courtesans, or that her older sister was a courtesan, and she was murdered, and a family friend smuggled her into the country and then paid for her to be married to the wealthy scion of this Dutch family." Edna's face stilled and then she said, "I have a pendant with a miniature of her on it. It's in the safe."

"Could you bring it to the farm tonight? I'd like Eric to look at it."

"Why?"

"He might have known her." Carly closed her eyes and then said, "And we might be executing her sister's murderer tonight."


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty

The doorbell rang, and Carly ran to answer it. Eric stood before her, and he looked like he'd just come off the cover of a romance novel. He was so spectacular, and the bouquet of roses he held before him so beautiful, that Carly started laughing.

"I amuse, Ms. Michael? I expected a different greeting."

Carly reached across the threshold and grasped Eric's hand and said, "Damn it, Eric Northman, come inside and kiss me."

Before she took a breath, Eric picked her up and kissed her, stroking her face with roses, which also, conveniently, obscured them from the people in the parlor. He put her back on the floor and said, "Are you all right, my beautiful Carly?"

"Yes, I'm okay." Carly embraced him and whispered, "But I don't want to be without you again."

"Then you should introduce me to your mother." His smile was playful and reassuring, and he seemed like some rakish suitor from a 19th century novel rather than an ancient vampire. "I have some issues to negotiate with her."

"Mr. Northman, please come into the parlor to meet my mother."

"I'm delighted to, Miss Michael." He bowed at the waist and gestured for her to lead the way.

"Mom, can I introduce you to Eric?"

Carly realized immediately that Edna must have had more brandy, "I thought you were going to tell me Mr. Rochester was here after that little performance in the foyer." She extended her hand, and said, "It's wonderful to meet you, Eric, truly. I apologize that I might seem slightly more anxious than usual because we've been discussing family history, so if my sense of hospitality fails, you can blame my late husband."

"I doubt it possible that your hospitality could fail, Mrs. van Heusen." Eric bowed again. "I wish that we could be more sociable, but I fear we're expected at your farm. Jean-Jacques is waiting in the car for us. May we depart?"

"Of course, I forgot." Edna scrambled toward the stairs. "I packed a bag for you, Carly. Let me get it for you. Abdullah, can you introduce Arianna to Mr. Northman."

"No need, Abdullah, because I knew she was here when I came to the door, and I would recognize her anywhere." Eric didn't look directly at Arianna, but gestured to her. "You must be Carly's aunt."

Arianna crossed her arms in visible huff, "I would expect you to at least introduce yourself properly, Eric Northman."

"Yes, well. I..." Eric closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "I have obligations to Carly, and I don't wish to embarrass her by giving you inappropriate attentions."

_The way you smell, Arianna, it's going to make him crazy. I don't know if it's a good idea for you to ride with us._

"You promised to introduce me to Jean-Jacques, and you said everything would be fine."

"You're still breathing, aren't you?" Carly was more than a little annoyed with her aunt at this point. "He can control himself and will, because he loves me."

Eric's voice rumbled, "I have to go outside, Carly." He handed her the roses and swept from the room.

"Arianna, perhaps it would be better for you to meet Jean-Jacques at a supper." Abdullah suggested.

"Fine. I'll leave through the back door." _I will see you soon, child._

Arianna disappeared out the back of the room almost as quickly as Eric did out of the front.

Edna called from the stairs, "Where did they go?"

"Arianna smelled too good, so Eric went back to the car. And Arianna is sulking, so she went out the back."

"Well, she was starting to get on my nerves." Edna had two small bags, one on each arm. "Abdullah, can you lock up and set the alarm?"

"Happily, Edna."

Carly took one of the bags and headed out the door and walked down the exterior steps. A limousine idled in front of the house, and Eric leaned against it with his arms crossed.

His face was stony, and he displayed none of his usual humor. "I hope that horrible creature isn't coming with us."

"Not tonight, Eric." His anger troubled her, so she asked, "Why are you so angry?"

"I'm not angry, Carly." Eric opened the car door for her and for her mother. "Leave your bags here, ladies, and Malcolm will put them in the trunk."

Edna climbed into the car.

"Then what's wrong?" Carly whispered the question.

With his eyes closed, Eric said, "I'm angry with myself, Carly, for wanting to drain her. I rarely feel such aggressive blood-lust."

"Thank you for controlling it."

"Carly, if I didn't, I'd die. You know that." Eric shook his head and said, "I don't think Jean-Jacques should meet her. I think it would end badly for us all."

Pressing gently on the small of her back, Eric encouraged her into the car, where Jean-Jacques was waiting with his hand extended toward her.

"Dear Carly, what a pleasure to see you again. I expect you rested well?"

"I could have slept a little more soundly." Carly smiled weakly. "I had a bad dream."

Jean-Jacques nodded and sighed, "Well, perhaps tonight's fires will banish all our bad dreams."

Abdullah joined them in the car and greeted them all heartily, "An adventure we'll have tonight, yes?"

"Unfortunately," Eric responded as he folded his long legs into the car. "Where are the copies, Abdullah?"

"They are waiting for us at the farm. I used a printer in Flemington itself, and they delivered them an hour ago."

Jean-Jacques's joie de vivre disappeared, "So you have not yet examined them?"

"No," Abdullah responded, "not in person, but I have seen photographs, and they are impeccable." As if confiding a secret, "This printer is really the best in the area. I prefer her work to anything I can find in the city."

"We will hope the Magister is satisfied." Jean-Jacques picked a piece of lint from his trousers and smoothed the crease in his right leg. "I doubt the drama will have the desired effect if Christophe questions the paintings' authenticity."

With everyone in the car, they set off across town toward the Lincoln tunnel, so they could head across New Jersey. No one seemed in a mood to talk, particularly Edna, who still sat with her arms crossed, periodically rubbing her temples, as they crossed over into New Jersey, down the turnpike to I-78, and then finally crossing over to Rt. 202. Once farms began to punctuate the landscape, Edna's grip loosened, and she said, "Jean-Jacques, what do you know about valkyries?"

"What a peculiar question, Edna?"

Carly's mind raced, because she had to stop her mother from telling her secret, had to stop her before the Magister was able to make the connection between valkyries and banshees, and decided that she was a danger to vampires everywhere.

"Mom?" Carly filled her voice with as much trepidation as she could. "I doubt Jean-Jacques would have encountered the legends."

"Oh, no, Carly, you forget that my great Carl was himself a German and spoke a German tongue, as did I. We had stories of creatures who stole the dead from the battle-field, although we were Christians, so we didn't think of them as goddesses, but as demons."

"Do you think they were real?" Edna pressed for an answer.

"Do you recall the line from Hamlet? 'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamed of in your philosophy?' That is my position, dearest Edna." Jean-Jacques smiled at Carly, "But I think it best, around vampires, that you don't assign a name to your dear daughter. We must protect her, especially right now." Jean-Jacques chuckled at the blush of shame and the small gasp that issued from Eric. "I am a wise old vampire, of course, you know."

Carly pulled her hastily drawn portrait out of her purse and looked at Eric, who closed his eyes and nodded, "Jean-Jacques, do you recognize this man? I saw him in my dream."

He looked at the portrait, turned his head, and then handed it to Eric. "Yes. Eric, do you?"

"No, Jean-Jacques, I don't."

"Then you have never seen the bastard feed."

"So you know him?" Eric's voice rose in pitch. "Who is it?"

"Your neighboring king, Eric." Jean-Jacques looked at him and said, "We use that picture to light the fire. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Eric tore up the picture and handed the scraps back to Carly, who was mystified.

"I don't understand."

Jean-Jacques crossed his legs in the other direction, adjusted his position, and then began speaking, "When the Civil War in the US ended, vast tracts of property lay unclaimed in the south, especially among the plantations in Mississippi. Russell Edgington, a very old vampire—some say 3,000 years old—was living in Barbados at the time, where he'd been for years, and he seized fifty unclaimed plantations, including one of the largest in Mississippi, just outside Jackson. He moved, with those filthy minions of his. He seized the state and bled every bit of money from it. During the second war, he recruited more werewolves in Europe and gave them to Himmler. I heard that he promised to turn Himmler..."

"That's terrifying." The location of Himmler's grave, Carly knew, is unknown, so she now feared that one of the architects of genocide still walked the earth.

"Yes, it is. Since the Great Revelation, I've worked with Mossad agents to determine whether the rumors are true, but I dare not question Edgington directly."

"Why?" Carly asked.

Jean-Jacques smirked, "Because he would just eat them. He's a horrible man. He thinks that he is the pinnacle of existence and believes that he is the oldest vampire still alive, although that his simply a delusion." He looked at Eric, "Why do you want him dead, my friend?"

"What? I said nothing like that, Jean-Jacques."

"Again, I am no fool. You needn't tell me, but if you find success in your endeavor, I will protect you until the end of time or my own true death."

"Your offer means a great deal to me, Jean-Jacques."

"Where is he from originally?" Carly wondered about this Russell Edgington, whose name seemed so innocuous, although he must be threatening.

"Accounts differ, and Russell has few confidants. Some say that he is from Scythia, some from central Europe. Unlike most of us, he despises the Great Revelation and would have preferred to remain hidden, to keep his humans cattle, impoverished and suffering." Jean-Jacques's voice filled with derision, "He's a glutton and full of avarice. He only agreed to the revelation when the authority threatened to blow up his house, which houses his precious collection."

"What could he have done?"

Jean-Jacques wove his fingers together. "Carly, it was horrible. he killed one of the chancellors and was about to kill another, when they showed him video of his home, surrounded by soldiers with grenade launchers." With a gesture, Jean-Jacques said, "He capitulated, especially after the threat that it could happen at any time."

All sat silent until they pulled into the driveway and saw a black panel van that was parked outside the house. As the limo pulled in behind it, the van's door opened and the Magister emerged with his cane in hand.

Malcolm opened the limousine door, and they left the limousine: Eric, Abdullah, Carly, Edna, and, finally, Jean-Jacques, vampire king of New York.

As the vampires approached the Magister, they bowed, and the Magister bowed in return to Jean-Jacques, who addressed the official, "My old friend."

They kissed each other on both cheeks and then brought their foreheads together. The Magister said, "Brother, thank you for facilitating this event."

"Justice long delayed will be done tonight, Magister, so how could I not assist?"

"Yes, it shall."

The two men linked arms and walked toward the house with the other two couples following behind.

"Eric," Carly tried to get his attention despite their height difference, "do they have the same maker?"

"Yes, he had a penchant for clergymen."

"Wow."

When they reached the house, the six of them of them encountered a workman who was coming out of the building. "Everything's installed, sir," he said to Jean-Jacques.

"Well done, Andrew. I can always count on you and your efficiency."

Andrew added, "A woman also brought over a carton that she said was filled with paintings. I moved it inside. The bonfire's also built and the permit's on the dining room table."

"Très bon." Jean-Jacques turned to the Magister. "Shall he start the fire?"

"I think it's best done by a human." The Magister looked over his shoulder at Abdullah and Edna, "We owe you thanks for providing the location. Thank you. Would either of you like to start the fire?"

"No thank you," Edna offered. "I'm not certain how much I'll be able to watch." Edna looked away and then wiped away a tear from her eye. "I guess I owe it to her..."

The Magister's eyes turned to Jean-Jacques, "Brother?"

"She's a relative of the girl that Christophe eviscerated in Amsterdam. She and Carly both."

"You did not tell me that, Jean-Jacques." The Magister looked at Eric and Carly, "And the two of you do not know that. No one may know you have any relationship to that girl."

Eric tried to hold her back but failed. Carly pushed forward and asked, "Why, Magister?"

"That girl was a fairy, Carly."

"So, she was particularly tasty, what about it."

"No, Carly, you don't understand. No one," the Magister emphasized the words, "must know."

"You and Jean-Jacques do."

The Magister shook his head violently and then said, "We," he pointed to his chest and then to Jean-Jacques. "We took a vow to ensure justice among vampires and to keep the worst impulses of our kind in check. If any vampire thought he could master light by drinking your blood, he would keep you in a cage."

"But it's been generations..."

"How many generations had it been for Queen Sophie-Ann's favorite? Sophie-Ann might not have been able to tolerate the sun, but drinking from that little tramp made it possible for her and Andre to tolerate that infernal brightness in her solarium for hours on end."

"So you knew?" The Magister's powers of discretion astonished her.

"Of course. And I said nothing, as you will say nothing, and Jean-Jacques and Eric Northman will say nothing. And, if you want to keep them safe, you will say nothing about her relatives living in Bon Temps." The Magister smirked. "Once I had a few moments with her, I learned all I could about Sookie and her brother, whose names I do not know." He smiled again. "And Eric will make certain that no vampires will settle in Bon Temps."

"Yes, Magister."

The bonfire roared to life in the center of a fallow field, and their attention returned to the matters at hand.

"Enough of things of which we will not speak again." The Magister called, "The paintings!"

Andrew brought the crate out toward the field, along with a hammer. After breaking apart the the crate, The paintings out and leaning against a truck nearby, they were ready to go up in smoke. All that was left was to bring Christophe out to the edge of the fire.

"Bring out the prisoner," the Magister called back toward the van.

Two black-clad guards frog-marched Christophe, whose hands were bound behind him with a silver chain, toward the onlookers. The guards dropped him and he fell to the ground. Eric walked to him and raised him up to his knees.

"Christophe, are you ready to accept your punishment for your crimes?"

"Yes." Christophe wore a smile, despite expecting his death.

The Magister asked, "Why do you smile, Christophe?"

"Because by punishing me, you free me from this horror I've suffered for three hundred years and more."

"Bring them," the Magister commanded, and his guards brought the first painting to stand before Christophe. "Christophe, what is the title of this painting?"

"The Sibyl, Magister." Christophe's smile faded and the corners of his mouth tensed. "Why is it here?"

"Your punishment, Christophe."

"What?" Desperation flooded his voice.

"Cast it into the fire."

With the Magister's command, Christophe fell back down on his face and writhed, screaming, "No, no, anything else!"

The canvas caught fire, and the pigment began to smoke. Christophe's psychic pain was so great, Carly doubted that he could smell the petrochemicals in the ink printed on the canvas. The naked figure on the canvas shrank with the heat and smoke rose from the cloth that draped at her feet.

"And this one, Christophe?" The Magister pointed to a monumental canvas that represented an apocalyptic scene with burning horses twisting in on themselves while heads flew through the air.

Christophe groaned and squirmed on the ground.

"It's name, Christophe!"

"Dresden," Christophe whimpered.

"On the fire!"

"No...please...no more." Christophe's face was covered in bloody soil.

"Only one more to burn, Christophe."

"Please, not Sebastian, please."

The Magister looked at the painting and said, "It seems you have some unresolved issues about Mr. Northman, Christophe. Do you wish for him to do the honor and cast it onto the fire?"

Christophe abraded his face in the rocky ground.

Eric grabbed the painting and cast it into the fire. "It's gone, Christophe. All of it."

"It's.." Christophe rolled around on the ground and then finally whispered, "done."

"Yes, Christophe," the Magister said, "it is done. Your punishment is finished. You now should prepare for the true death. How do you wish to die?"

"With them. Burn me."

The Magister turned to Eric, "Will you do the honors?"

Eric raised Christophe up off the ground. He brought the doomed vampire up to his eye level and spoke, "I'm sorry, Christophe. I should have freed you."

"He was my maker, Eric. No one could protect me."

With one movement, Eric cast Christophe into the flames, where he screamed until he finally exploded like a blood-filled grenade. The blood fizzled and sputtered as it, in turn, was consumed by the flames, and an acrid smoke filled the sky.

"We are finished. Well done, Northman. It's time for me to go." The Magister handed Abdullah an envelope. "Carly convinced me to establish a trust for Edgar's progeny, who are a motley crew of pathetic vampires. Here is the deposit information."

Jean-Jacques and the Magister embraced, and then the Magister drove away.

Throughout the entire ordeal, Carly's attention never wavered from Christophe and his tremendous suffering, at that moment and for his entire existence as a vampire. She wondered, what now for him. If Arianna was right, human beings released energy at their death that could linger, but Carly wondered what about vampires? Did their "true deaths" release life into the universe that needed to be consumed and transformed into something else to keep the world in order?

Carly walked toward the fire and stared at the little bits of congealed blood that still lingered among the flames. She watched as they danced and she remembered the flames that rose from Eric's long house, and the flames that licked the bottom of the cauldron, and the flames that illuminated the Mississippi vampire king as he ripped apart a child. Concentrating on the flames, she felt herself become one with them, and circle Christophe's remains, and climb into the sky. Carly saw herself standing, swaying next to the fire, and the vampire king and official saying goodbye, and Abdullah comforting Edna, and Eric approaching her. She wondered if she could move upon the smoke and through the flame and see somewhere far away. Picturing the Spanish moss of the Mississippi delta, Carly saw herself floating before a massive ante-bellum mansion. She traveled through a crack between the doorframe and the door and saw two men, beautifully dressed, in a formal dining room, illuminated by candles and hurricane lamps. Focusing her intent upon the largest candelabra, she willed the flames to rise and consume the air around them. So frightened by the sudden inferno, the two men jumped away from the table and one called for a fire extinguisher. Amused, Carly returned on the wind to the bonfire.

Eric held her tightly by the shoulders. "I thought you would fall, Carly."

"I can burn him, Eric. I can burn him and his house down." She looked over her shoulder. "Let me be your weapon, please."

He turned her toward him and licked away the blood that dried on her cheeks. "You're not a weapon. You're mine."

"You don't want him dead?"

"Not at the risk of losing you, Carly." He wrapped himself around her and said, "Now that Edgar and Christophe are gone, we build a life for you in Shreveport."

Carly pushed herself away from him and looked at his eyes and said, "But then you can't be king."

"Knowing who he is gives me a tremendous degree of freedom—I can plan and find a vulnerability that I can exploit. Nonetheless, I don't actually want to be king—I want to be free and be with you."

"Are you sure?" Carly couldn't imagine that a viking would pass up the opportunity to be king, even if he would be the king of a secret government that no one knew existed.

"Yes, Carly. This is a dangerous time. It's best for both of us if I stay back and wait, rather than rushing forward." He laughed. "Perhaps I'm a coward at heart, since I'm not willing to lead." Holding her hands, he said, "I just hope you aren't disappointed."

"Why, why would I be disappointed? I'm safe." She looked over at her mother, who was holding Abdullah's hand. "My mom might let herself be happy. And the king of New York is a close family friend."

"What?"

"Well, he has to be, doesn't he?"

"I don't understand, Carly. Are you all right?"

She chuckled and said, "I haven't lost my mind quite yet, Eric." Carly called to Jean-Jacques. "Your majesty, I have a question for you." Carly led Eric away from the fire and toward Jean-Jacques, who stood next to the door to the farmhouse.

"Yes, sweet Carly." Jean-Jacques nodded. "I am at your service."

"You paid for the fairy to marry my ancestor, didn't you?"

Jean-Jacques's lip rose on one side, as if he were about to smile. "I'm not sure I know what you're

asking, Carly."

"Someone gave that girl a dowry. Was it you?" Carly rested one hand on her hip as she asked.

"I have paid dowries for sweet children who turned up in New York if they were of good families, especially when they traveled incognito, particularly when they were smuggled out of Amsterdam in illegal Spanish ships paid for by the Inquisition."

Carly turned to Eric seeking some explanation.

"The Magister served as an Inquisitor against the Albigensians, but he enjoyed Spain and offered some assistance to the Spanish Inquisition in its early days."

"I've got to brush up my Latin, clearly." Carly started laughing and attracted her mother's attention.

"Everything okay, Carly?"

"Sure, mom. Everything's fine. I think I'm good, but I'm really, really hungry. Can we eat something?"

"Of course." Edna walked into the farmhouse, invited Jean-Jacques inside, and the two of them were followed by Abdullah.

Carly began to follow, but Eric stopped her. "You still haven't asked my question, Carly."

"About being disappointed?" Carly smiled, put her hands on his shoulders and jumped up into his arms, so that her legs encircled his waist. "No, everything, as far as it will ever be, is perfect."

They kissed and bit down on each other's lips until they were able to share each other's blood. A finger of flame from the bonfire rushed toward them on the wind, encircled them, and burned. The valkyrie and the viking stood encircled with flame until their kiss ended.

The End (for now)

A/N Thank you all for reading and being such supportive reviewers. I began this project to prove to myself that I could write ten to twenty pages of narrative a day. I'd really like to reposition Carly outside of the TB universe, but I don't know if this idea—of a forensic anthropologist who solves mysteries through these visions—would work. I don't think she'd be able to read minds, and there wouldn't be vampires, but I think it has possibilities. I'd love to know what you think. I didn't say it at the start, so I'll say it here. I own nothing having anything to do with True Blood or the SVM.


End file.
